My Fair Life Form
by Wai-Jing Waraugh
Summary: The Doctor saves a girl who claims to be an alien from being lynched by a mob in a shopping mall. Why did Millie say she's an alien? Is she lying? Is she just a confused, under-confident attention-seeking teenager, or is something more sinister at work?
1. Chapter 1

**My Fair Life-Form**

Tenth Doctor post-Donna story, suitable for all ages. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 1**

On a sunny Sunday afternoon in London, a girl was running through a crowded mall.

Weekends. A carefree couple of days, released from school. Days given up to the pastimes of the youth. Hanging out at the mall. Browsing store windows. Checking out boys. A bit of harmless fun.

A boy was dashing after this girl. He was no teenage Adonis though; he had a large spot on his chin, his hair was greasy and he was skinny and gawky. The girl wasn't any Venus di Milo herself. Though she wore a diaphanous dress of floaty white material, she was only what could be called a slightly hefty girl; she was at that delicate stage where a woman's growth hasn't yet caught up with her ideals of womanly beauty, and others around her detect her lack of confidence. The boy chasing her certainly seemed to have cottoned on; as she scurried past a young couple with ice creams outside a snack shop, upsetting their purchases, he caught up an empty drinks can and hurled it at her. It bounced harmlessly off her shoulder, but the impact spurred her forward; her poor legs started to churn more hurriedly, and she was gasping for breath as she hurtled the length of the shopping plaza.

The boy followed her, and behind him came several other people. A couple of grown men swinging heavy-looking shopping bags; a gentleman with an umbrella; even a janitor wielding a mop.

"Don't let it get away!"

"Catch it before it leaves the mall!"

"Stop it! Don't let it touch anyone!"

"Halt, ya bloody creature!"

The pursued girl, reaching the end of the plaza, paused on the sidewalk, glanced over her shoulder in desperation, then dashed out into the street.

Just as a bus passed by the mall.

The cherry-red paint of the London icon whizzed by a foot in front of her face. She had been a second away from plunging straight out in front of it, and the only thing that had stopped her from going under it was the wiry, suit-clad body she was braced against. Still panting from exhaustion and shock, she looked up at the man who had caught her before she could fall victim to the city's public transport system. He was an older guy, probably at least past his twenties, but he looked strangely like a punk kid playing the grown-up in a stripy gray suit and brown trench coat. This was compounded by the Converse sneakers showing beneath the hem of a skinny-cut pants leg.

She was pushed up very close against him. She had run headlong into him, and as he caught her by the shoulders to stop her, she had instinctively latched onto the lapels of his jacket. She let go with a start and jumped back, her face flushed. After all, she'd never been that close to a boy before – she didn't even have a boyfriend yet – let alone a complete stranger!

Shouts came from her back. Both he and she turned to look. The running mob of men was rapidly approaching from down the mall.

"The bus didn't get it!"

"Quick, before it gets away!"

"Give the bloody thing a beating! That's what it deserves!"

"Knock it down! We've gotta contain it!"

"Someone catch it! Quick!"

"Run!"

This last word was directed at the girl with no warning as the man who had caught her grabbed her by the hand and pulled her down the street. She stumbled at the suddenness; he caught her elbow to hold her up, then kept dragging her along. He expertly wove in and out of the shopping crowds, his sneakered feet moving with an agility that was hard for a clumsy adolescent to keep up with.

They could hear the men progressing behind them, shouting as people got in their way. Man and girl rounded a post box; he made a swift ninety-degree turn and hauled her sharply down an alleyway. He flattened himself against the wall, motioning her to do the same. The girl held her breath as they waited, listening intently, as the pounding feet of the mob approached; then they passed and kept on going.

The man in the tan overcoat gave her an impish grin and looked very pleased with himself. The girl's heart was still pounding in her chest, and she managed only a weak smile of relief and thanks as she slumped against the wall. The man craned his head around the corner, straining for a glimpse of their out-maneuvered pursuers. Then he quickly drew his head back in and stumbled backwards down the alley as a knot of men turned the corner. The girl screeched and cowered behind him. Their hands were still clasped, and her nails bit into his palm. She had survived the traffic of the street, only to fall prey to the traffic of the footpath. They were trapped against a dead end; the alleyway led to a brick wall, which they were rapidly backed up against. The group of tough guys advanced menacingly upon them, their various implements, mops and umbrellas raised as though to strike.

"Caught it!"

"Get it now!"

"Show it what Earth can do!"

"Beat a warning into it!"

"Show it no mercy!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"

The men paused uncertainly at the suit-clad man's sudden words as he stood, shielding the girl behind his back.

"It? What's '_it_'? There's no 'it' here, you're trying to beat up on an innocent young girl!"

"Don't be fooled, Mister!" growled the man with a dirty mop in his hands. "That ain't no innocent little girl, it's a blood-thirsty alien!"

"_What?!_ Says who?"

"Says it!" declared the teenager, who was armed with a tennis racket. "It was in the middle of the fashion show outside Sue-Ellen's Clothes an' told the whole mall it was an extraterrestrial. We all heard it!"

"It's a new age, man," said a fellow who was holding his umbrella menacingly like a fencing sword. "We Londoners have seen people disintegrated in the streets by life forms from outer space. The government doesn't detect 'em in time to save lives, so us citizens have to act first. We saw twenty-seven planets appear in the sky four months ago; this thing could've come from any one of them. We have to let 'em know who's boss before they all come back to enslave the planet."

The rest of the men shouted agreement with that. He felt the girl shiver convulsively against his back.

"Oi, oi, let's not get carried away! This isn't an alien! It's – _she's_ – just a girl, and you're scaring her half to death!"

"But it admitted it! It said what it was!"

"Nah, don't you remember bein' a kid? A big joke's all it is. Having a bit of fun. Not the best time to pull a stunt like that, what with Autons and Sliveen and Sycorax and Cyberman and Racnoss and Judoon and Adipose and Daleks all appearing publicly within the space of four years; but it's all pretty harmless, really."

"How do we know that?" asked a man waving a shopping bag wildly to punctuate his words. "Just who are you anyway? How do we know you aren't in league with _it_? You could be another one of _them_!"

The men eyed the suit-clad stranger suspiciously.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Right, then." When he reached into his coat they flinched back fearfully as one body, but all he did was pull a wallet from his pocket.

"John Smith, Head of Centre Management," he declared in an authoritarian tone, showing the men an official-looking I.D. card in a flip-wallet. It had 'E.T. CONSULTANT' stamped across it in large letters, and displayed a picture of the man himself wearing spectacles. As though to complete the image, the man slipped on a similar pair of thick-rimmed glasses and regarded the mob seriously over their lenses.

"The shopping district has been employing consultation experts on alien life forms ever since a race called the Autons made a reported sighting at the Queens Arcade, just in case the general public should come under threat from extraterrestrial life forms at any time during trading hours. We're a much faster response team than MI5, Torchwood and UNIT combined. I was called in after security initiated a mauve-alert, but you ninnies chastised – and chased – my suspect before I could arrive on the scene. Now stand back and give the poor girl some room; there's an easy way to prove that she's 100 percent human."

The men shuffled back ruefully as the security agent replaced his glasses and identification in his coat pocket and instead whipped out a pen-shaped device.

"What's that then?" asked the teenage lad curiously.

"Species scanner. 3-second response time and 96 percent accuracy."

"You've been called on to perform quite a few tests before, then?" asked the man with the umbrella.

"No, actually, this is the first time a bunch of thugs tried to beat up a defenseless child, thinking she was an alien. Now come on, thatta a girl now, let's have a look."

Switching from a tone of biting sarcasm for a gentler, more coaxing tone, he disengaged the girl's clenched fingers from the back of his coat and turned to face her. She cringed away from the crowd of men, and though her eyes looked obstinately down, a large sob that escaped her indicated her distress.

"Shhh shhh now, easy, no one's going to hurt you," he murmured, shooting the mob a warning glance and resting his hands lightly on each of her shoulders in a paternal, comforting manner. "Now what's your name, young lady?"

"M-m-millie," the girl managed to stammer.

"Nice to meet you, Millie. Love the dress. Very Georgian." He knelt down so that his head was level with hers. "Now, these fellas here for some reason think you're an alien, but I'm going to prove that you're no more of an alien than me. I'm going to use this scanner to analyze your molecular make-up. Watch, I'll scan myself first." He held the end of the scanner over the tip of his left index finger, and as it activated it pulsed with a blue light and made a mechanical whirring noise that made the crowd start and become rather impressed in spite of themselves.

"You see, it doesn't hurt and the results are instantaneous. If it detects interplanetary material it'll make a shrill noise like a whistle. Now hold out your hand, Millie. It won't hurt you, and it'll be over in a second."

He held the still-stressed-out girl's gaze encouragingly for a moment; after a pause, with a slightly wary look in her eyes, she slowly held out a shaky hand. With a flourish, he positioned the scanner over her and activated it. It whirred monotonously. The entire crowd of men relaxed visibly, then looked slightly embarrassed.

"There you are, that proves that; and shame on you lot for terrorizing a young girl like that. I know who the fearsome creatures on this planet are; if aliens came here, they'd take us for a planet full of strong-arming bullies. Now I'm taking this girl back to centre management for questioning once I've managed to calm her down; I wouldn't be surprised if her parents tried to press charges for the hostility you unduly showed her, but for the sake of not having to report this humiliating incident to my superiors, I'll let you all go without taking down your names. Now scarper, the lot of you. You've done enough harm here, get on with the lot of you."

Like a pack of sheepish dogs denied a scrap, the men exited the alleyway with their respective tails between their legs, shame-faced and not meeting each other's gaze. The teenager hovered at the suit's elbow.

"That's some job you got there, Mister. I wouldn't mind being like you when I go for a career. Chasing aliens all day, it must be a lark." He glanced at the girl almost as an afterthought, and mutter a sullen, "Sorry. Nice panties." This last aside was delivered with a sneer at the girl's skirt, which at some stage of the chase had been split; she hurriedly tried to hold it closed with two clenched fists, her face turning crimson.

"Oi, that tennis racket has a price tag on it still. You're not shop lifting there, are you, sonny?" At these words the boy tensed; he stared at the racket in his hand like it was a red-hot poker, then he turned and fled into the street.

* * *

"Well, that took care of that lot," the Doctor said with a lop-sided grin as he replaced his sonic screwdriver in his coat pocket. Beside him, the girl, Millie, sniffled.

"Oh come now, it's alright now," he crooned sympathetically, sliding off his coat, then his suit jacket, and draping the jacket around the girl's shoulders to hide the gaping rent in her ruined dress. It came down to her knees, easily hiding the damage.

"It's not nice, being chased by mobs. I've been chased by loads more mobs than you. Yelling mobs, mobs with pitchforks, mobs with ray guns and mobs with plungers, rhino-headed mobs, mobs with tentacles. That mob wasn't half as bad as any of those. And I got rid of them, that's the main thing. I'm getting rather good at dealing with mobs."

"Thank you," Millie said tearfully, a charm bracelet jangling on her plump wrist as she pushed her hair back from her tear-streaked face. "You were great. You're awfully good at talking rubbish, aren't you?"

Halfway through a self-satisfied nod, the Doctor stopped. "Now hold on, it wasn't all rubbish. We-ell, maybe I'm not from Centre Management. But the rest was more or less true."

"Sounded like a load of bollocks to me," Millie declared stubbornly.

"How ungrateful! After I saved you from a mob! A mob with rackets, mops and umbrellas! Brollies can be very dangerous! Gene Kelly had a sharp brolly, almost gouged me in the side when I tried to talk to him at the stage door. Lovely chap, once he realized I wasn't a reporter."

"See, you're talking rubbish again!" Millie wagged an accusing finger. "You're a compulsive liar. What I want to know is how you managed to talk them into thinking you were a security guard by showing them a blank piece of paper. They sure were stupid to fall for that lot!"

The Doctor frowned. "_What?!_" he spluttered. "What do you mean, 'blank paper'?"

"You flicked it fast so maybe they didn't see it, but I saw the wallet over your shoulder as you put it back in your pocket and it was just full of white paper."

"_What?!_ But… that's _impossible_!" The Doctor retrieved his physic paper and held it in front of Millie's face. "What do you see?"

Looking at him like he was delusional, Millie patiently replied "Blank paper."

The Doctor looked perplexed, glanced at the paper, then asked hopefully: "You can't see the first draft of the American Declaration of Independence there?" When Millie shook her head, he sat back on his heels, looking confused.

"But that's impossible. It should work on you. Unless… what's 600,456 minus 43,271?"

When Millie, surprised by the suddenness and irrelevance of the question, just gave him a bewildered stare as a means of reply, he rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully and murmured more to himself than to her, "Well, that rules out that possibility. You're not highly intelligent. So why won't-"

Millie, looking highly-offended, thrust her hands onto her hips and interrupted indignantly: "Excuse me, I'm thankful you helped me out and all, but perhaps you could wait until I've gone before you start saying nasty things about me, if you don't mind. I've had a rough day, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Oh, oh, sorry," the Doctor muttered, looking slightly taken aback. "Where are you heading to? Back to the shops?"

Millie looked at her feet. Her white satin ballet flats were dirty, and the left one had a torn seam. They certainly weren't running shoes. "No. I-I can't go back there… I'd be too embarrassed. I'd rather go home. It's not far; I can walk there. My mum and sister are probably there already anyway; they'll be wondering where I am."

"Right, well you can't walk home alone in that get-up. What are you, only twelve, thirteen?" Millie nodded. "Well, I'll walk you home. Besides, can't let you keep that jacket. Charlie Chaplin lent me that suit. Well, when I say lent… I haven't returned it yet, but…"

Millie chuckled. "You talk a lot."

"I know," the Doctor replied with a wide grin. "It's always, always been one of my charms. And helpful; people I don't like find it really, really annoying."

"I don't mind it, actually," Millie admitted shyly as the Doctor gave her his arm and they walked side by side out into the street.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The Doctor actually did more questioning than talking as he walked Millie home. Gradually, asking one question at a time, he heard about her modest suburban home, nondescript personal interests, average school, insignificant family background, lack-lustre grades… all in all, she was an unremarkable child.

_This one could grow up to be a temp from Chiswick,_ the Doctor thought wryly to himself.

It made all the fuss at the mall seem uncharacteristic, from what he could gather about her.

"Sounds like you've had a very human upbringing," he said out loud. "So, why'd you go and tell a whole bunch of people you're an alien? Did your friends put you up to it? Or your sister perhaps?"

Millie coloured visibly. "Carrie doesn't associate with me in public; she'd be horrified if anyone thought we knew each other, let alone are related. And I don't have any friends… w-who were there today." The Doctor noticed her pause, and felt rather uncomfortable.

"Growing up can be tough, eh?" he murmured consolingly. "Look at me; I've been in this body for, oh, a fair while now, and I still get called a shrimp or a runt from time to time."

"Well, no one could call me that," Millie muttered darkly, looking down at where the waistband of her dress pulled across her middle. "I got cross with you earlier for saying I was stupid, but it's true, really. I don't look clever. I don't look much of anything, really."

"Oh, that's not true," the Doctor interjected. "I think you look nice… that dress… it's your colour, I think… and, uh, those shoes look good on you. Nice snug fit."

"You don't give compliments much, do you?" Millie observed, looking sideways at him with the tiniest of smiles.

"Er, no," he admitted haltingly.

"That's alright. If you had been as convincing when you said it as you were before, I'd still have known you were lying."

The Doctor said nothing. Being… well, the Doctor, he seldom suffered from a lack of confidence. Nevertheless, even he'd have to be a blind fool to see that this girl was pitifully under-confident. Why go around attracting attention to yourself like that then? he wondered to himself. He tried again.

"The world's a different place now. You say you're an alien these days, and people are bound to fly off the handle. Some of those people in the mall might have lost loved ones to an invasion. You can't blame them for being scared. So, why say something as dramatic as all that?"

Millie shrugged, looking sheepish. "I dunno. I was in the fashion show at Sue-Ellen's Clothing Emporium – Mum makes me and Carrie model. Well, she has to make me do it, anyway – and at the end of the runway my shoe flipped off my foot and I slipped. I fell right over, in front of everyone. A bunch of boys over near the food court started making rude noises–" Millie blushed bright red, and the Doctor could imagine what kind of Sliveen-ish noises the boys had made "-and I guess I overreacted. Carrie calls me an alien all the time, so I just blurted it out. It-it sounds silly, but… until they started chasing me, I rather enjoyed it." A small, wistful smile appeared on her face, making the Doctor feel slightly uneasy. "There was this big gasp, and everyone looked really afraid of me. It felt… good."

She was lost in contemplation for a moment, then seemed to come back to herself, as though she had been talking without realizing who was hearing it.

"Uh, t-this is my street, over here," she stammered, not looking at him. The Doctor followed her, wondering as he went.

The street they turned into, Pommerance Close, was a fairly common-place suburban street, and the houses were almost identical red-bricked pseudo-cottages, but the one they stopped in front of seemed to have a slight point of difference. Though it was exactly the same in design and layout as the other houses, the picket fence out the front seemed almost dazzlingly white, the green of its patch of lawn was that little bit more vivid, and the late roses blooming in the garden beds along the path had a delicious scent. In all, the little house, though modest, had the air of a suburban utopia.

A small, curvaceous silver hatch-back was pulled up in the driveway – no spot of oil or rubber tyre-marks there – and three people, a man, woman and child, were having an animated discussion beside it. The woman saw them approach; she gave a cry and tottered swiftly out to meet them. Her dark-red patent leather high-heeled pumps gave her a lurching gait, and her dead-straight ash-blonde hair was unnaturally still as she fluttered towards the Doctor and Millie.

_Ah, this is what makes the saving-the-damsel job rewarding,_ the Doctor thought smugly to himself. _The gratefulness of the rescued party at the end of the-_

"Where have you been, you beastly child!"

This shrill shriek, like a flute being played at its highest note, cut short the Doctor's self-congratulations.

"Susie was beside herself! She thought my child had run off with the pride of her couture collection! Luckily Carrie was still there to show the people how lovely it could look-" the Doctor noted that the voice softened indulgently at the mention of the other daughter "-but it made such an ugly scene, most awkward, a lot of –" here she sniffed and looked at the Doctor with undisguised disdain "-very common people guffawing after you took off and left us there. What were you trying to do to us? I've never been so humiliated! And then you wandered the street looking like that! What will Susie say! She'll go into convulsions over the state of those shoes! Get indoors before someone sees you, for pretty's sake, and get rid of that ridiculous coat!"

She grabbed one of the jacket's sleeves and yanked it vehemently from Millie's shoulders, pinching it delicately between two pincer-like, crimson-tipped fingernails.

"Ah, that would be mine," the Doctor interjected, rushing forward to save his jacket from mistreatment.

Millie's mother handed it over with a false-looking smile that showed a lot of very-white teeth. "I'm Sylvie. And you are…?"

"Smith, John Smith. Hullo. Just thought I'd walk Millie home. Later, Millie," he called after the girl, who was making her way up the drive, shoulders stooped. Millie half-turned around. He could see that her chin was trembling and her eyes were rimmed with tears of humiliation.

"Later." Her voice sounded thick. Her mother watched her retreating back as though the mere sight of it offended her, then turned to face the Doctor.

"I hope she didn't bother you too much," she simpered in a patronizing tone of apology. "Such a disgraceful child!"

"Ah, it's alright," he returned carelessly, trying to dissipate her unwarranted outrage and wishing to himself that he could just back away as swiftly as possible. Women like this made him feel all prickly. They were far too… womanly. "We had a bit of trouble-"

"Children are always trouble," Sylvie replied, heaving a sigh that made her sound as though her daughter was the greatest vexation of her life, which she certainly seemed to be.

"Oh, not always, apparently," the Doctor rejoined, sounding distracted. "Blimey," he murmured despite himself.

He was watching the girl on the driveway. More specifically, the one named Carrie. She wore the same dress as Millie, but hers was almost half the width, and it floated around her slim form like a wisp of fog around a flag pole. That was just what Carrie looked like; she was all slender and white. Her cheekbones leant her face an elfin quality, and there was a delicate tint of pink in her cheeks. Her hair was blonde like her mother's, but so pale it was almost white, and it hung straight down like a curtain to her slender waist. Her looks were ethereally beautiful... almost otherworldly.

Sylvie's face changed dramatically. An indulgent smile was on her cerise-painted lips. "My other daughter, Carrie. She was a big hit at the fashion show today. Such an attractive child." She pawed her own perfectly-coiffed hair as she said so. It was obvious whom she credited with her daughter's fine looks.

As the Doctor watched, Millie stumbled up the drive, Carrie standing directly in her path; she had to stop and look up when she got to her, and as she did, Carrie's fine facial features twisted in a very cruel-looking sneer. She eyed poor Millie and leered, as though her state of disarray gave the girl the utmost satisfaction; then she turned on her heel and flounced away with a gait that would've better belonged to a minx twice her age. Millie, looking stung, stared after her, then followed dejectedly.

"Oh, very attractive," the Doctor muttered. Sylvie, beaming proudly, didn't detect the sarcasm.

"Daddy! I want the bathroom first! I just have to shower, I feel ghastly!" he heard the high piping voice of the slender child say.

"Not yet, pumpkin," the man, her father, replied. He was a nondescript guy, fairly decent-looking in a kind of anemic, pinched way. "Let your sister have one tonight. You can shower in the morning, like you usually do."

"But I want to have it nooooow!" he heard the girl whine in reply. Then the three of them passed inside. Millie was the last in; she gave the Doctor a doleful look as she closed the door behind her.

"Very conscientious of her appearance," Sylvie declared buoyantly as though this was the pinnacle of all virtues. She turned back to the Doctor, and her smile faltered as her glance swept over his unruly head of plentiful hair. His gaze followed hers upwards uncertainly; he shuffled on the spot, clearing his throat. "Well, I hope Millie's ok now. She was quite distressed when I saw her. She was being chased by a mob down the mall. Strange thing is, they seemed to think she was… well, an alien."

Sylvie looked at him as though he had said a vulgar word, then broke into a robust chuckle that seemed slightly forced. The Doctor joined in hesitantly.

"Children will say the silliest things to get attention," she purred. "Thank you, Mr. Smith, for your escort. We appreciate chivalry in these parts."

"Ye-ah, that's me, old-fashion, knight in shining armour, left my noble steed at home today," the Doctor replied, finally starting to back away like he wanted to. "Nice to meet you. Look after those daughters of yours."

"Oh, we will," Sylvie replied smoothly. Her very pale blue eyes looked almost cat-like as they watched his skinny figure dwindling down the street.

* * *

_Odd family,_ the Doctor thought to himself as he strode down Pommerance Close. _Very strange._

He can see now why Millie was like she was. The poor girl was the ugly duckling of the family. Compared to the rest of them, she was certainly the most… ordinary out of the lot of them.

And that bothered him.

Something was definitely off there. More than just a disturbing case of parental favouritism. The whole thing seemed… somehow false. That perfectly manicured front garden, the spotless pavement in front of the house, the picture-perfect little suburban cottage. It was all… somehow too good to be true.

"And I never trust things that are too good to be true," the Doctor murmured to himself.

What about the scene at the mall? Was there more to it, something below the surface? And was it alien?

Millie seemed beyond suspicion. From talking to her, she seemed a perfectly ordinary human adolescent. Almost too human. And yet…

The Doctor whipped out his sonic screwdriver and scrutinized it. He hadn't really been scanning her species with it in the alleyway. The sonic couldn't manipulate molecules that intricately, nor could it process the vast range of species variables it would need to store in order to match a reading. Only the Judoon were strong enough to carry such large database logs incorporated into their armour. The sonic had been used as just a prop in that situation, and yet… when he had scanned Millie's hand, it had picked up something. A very weak signal. Barely a blip on the radar, but just enough for the sonic to detect it. It was almost like…

"Contact with a reversed polarity," the Doctor murmured to himself thoughtfully. "But contact with _what_?"

Whatever it was, it must have somehow centered around the rigmarole at the mall. Which meant that it was time, the Doctor decided, that he visited the scene of the crime itself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Mister Smith…?"

"Hmmm…? What?"

The Doctor had been loitering around in the shopping plaza. Hearing himself called by his favourite alias, he turned and found an old janitor standing beside him, broom in hand. After a moment, the Doctor recognized him as the man with the mop who had chased poor little Millie. He looked rather remorseful as he approached the Doctor, and he seemed to be trying to decide whether to talk to him or not.

"You're here about the incident this morning, sir?"

"Certainly I am. I want to understand exactly what was going on that would make a bunch of grown men _assault_ a thirteen-year-old girl in the middle of a busy mall."

At the word 'assault' the janitor flailed nervously on the spot and gave him a pleading look.

"Please, not so loud! Have a heart, I'll lose me job if management upstairs hears about this! I'm living with my daughter and her kids, she has a mortgage to pay, we need this job… please, I'll never let it happen again!"

The Doctor gave him a pitying look. "What was your name?"

"Maurice. Maurice Johnson."

"Who did you lose, Maurice Johnson?"

The janitor started, then looked down at the floor, though he didn't seem to be really seeing it at all.

"How did you guess…? But then, you are an expert in the field. My… my son-in-law. He was out buying gifts for the kids and got shot by store mannequins that'd come to life. The media tried to hush it up, but the carnage couldn't lie… Oh, he meant the world to those kids, and he always treated my girl right!" The man's mouth quivered sorrowfully. Though his memories from Millie's terrifying chase that morning were still fresh, the Doctor was moved despite himself.

"Well Maurice, I won't blame you for panicking a bit, though what you did was cowardly and low. If you show me where it all started, I won't hold it against you, and the folks upstairs won't hear a word about it from me."

Maurice wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Thank you, Mr. Smith. Very good of you to understand. I can't tell you how it threw me… I thought it was all happening again right here, and with so many children about…"

"What? What was happening again?"

"The invasion. Just after it- er, I mean she, declared she was an alien, a beam of energy came down and nearly fried a bunch of kids."

"_What?! _No one mentioned this before! Show me where it happened!"

Maurice led the Doctor to where the plaza opened up into a kind of central square. A stage with a long runway was being dismantled by a group of workers. Over near it, the Doctor could see a fancy-looking shop, with the words 'Sue-Ellen's Clothing Emporium' written over its doors in curly letters. A few mannequins in frothy sundresses were displayed in the window. Next to the square was an area full of tables and chairs, bordered by a few food outlets. One of the tables was cordoned off with reels of tape; the glass shield from the fluorescent light above it was half-hanging from the ceiling, and the lower end of it had smashed on the tabletop.

"I'd just come from sweeping up the glass when I saw you, figured you were on your way down here," Maurice explained, leaning on his broom.

"Were you nearby when it happened?"

"Yes, I was mopping up some spilled drinks over there near Fast Burgers when it happened. The crowd was watching the fashion show, then suddenly I heard that girl screaming at the top of her lungs that she was an alien. Next thing, a bright light flew outta nowhere and hit that light panel; the boys sitting at that table moved outta the way just in time. Sparks were flying everywhere; in the confusion, the girl somehow got off the stage and through the crowd. A bunch of guys started chasing her, and I thought it was my duty as an employee of the centre to help 'em out. Sorry if I was in the wrong…"

The Doctor surveyed the area with a keen glance. This table would have been the closest one to the stage, it was on the very edge of the food court. The Doctor remembered Millie's account of the fashion show:

_"__I fell right over, in front of everyone. A bunch of boys over near the food court started making rude noises, and I guess I overreacted..."_

"Did you notice what the boys were doing before it happened?" the Doctor asked.

Maurice shrugged. "They were watching the show, I guess. They were whooping it up a bit. You know how boys are around pretty girls." He grinned at the Doctor knowingly.

"Well, this girl didn't get quite that kind of reception." The Doctor leaned over the tape to examine the tabletop. "From the sounds of things, they were tormenting her, and she may have felt provoked. Hello, we've got scorch marks…"

Black lines emanated from the corner of the table, the corner closest to the stage.

"Well, that's interesting!" The Doctor ducked under the tape and leapt onto the table. In an instant the sonic was in his hand and blinking its blue light over the wirings in the dismantled light fitting.

"Is that that scanner of yours?" asked Maurice curiously.

"Oh yeah, it's an all-purpose tool. Very useful. Great for picnics. All these wires are intact. It's just the glass cover that has come down, and it was shattered as it hit the table…" He stopped scanning and folded his arms thoughtfully. "If the wires are intact, no electricity came from the ceiling, so how did the scorch marks get on the table? And what made the light shield come down anyway?" He scanned the plaza with a rapid glance. His eyes drew a straight line from the table to the stage, then retraced it.

"Oh, that could be it!"

He leapt from the table over the tape, and strode over to stand in front of the stage. "Come over here, Maurice, and watch this! This is going to be ingenius!" Maurice ambled over, looking intrigued and confused by turns. The Doctor began to vigorously rub the sonic up and down the sleeve of his coat.

"That oughta do it," he murmured after about a minute of this activity, then he aimed the sonic at the table and activated it. It made a slightly higher-pitched whir than usual, and a blue beam of light shot across the square; it hit the corner of the table, and as it did blue sparks appeared. It kept up for just a few seconds, then stopped. The Doctor lowered the sonic, looking very impressed with himself.

"Let's have a look then! Allons-y!" He dashed back to the table with Maurice, slightly startled, following him somewhat hesitantly.

The Doctor was circling the table exuberantly. "Look at that! It's a shorter, lighter mark because it wasn't fully charged and the line is thinner because the beam was more concentrated, but it's more or less the same thing!"

A new, still slightly-smoking line was burnt into the tabletop, right next to the previous one.

"How did you do that?" Maurice asked in an awed voice.

"I reversed the polarity," the Doctor smirked proudly. When Maurice looked fogged, he launched into a rapid-fire explanation: "I simply harnessed negative ions clinging to my clothes. I rubbed the sonic- er, scanner on my sleeve to create a flow of negatively-charged atoms, it reacted with the positive atoms of the scanner, causing their polarity to reverse. Then the resulting energy collected and I was able to focus it at a single point! It was static electricity, converted into a beam! That's what happened at the fashion show this afternoon; a stronger, more volatile beam of static electricity hit the table, bounced up, smashed the light, and brought it down. The question is, though – where did that first beam come from?"

"It'd have to be done with one of those, wouldn't they?" asked Maurice, nodding at the sonic.

"Yeah, or some other form of converter… these-" he held up the sonic "-are limited-issue, I have one of the very few prototypes, so it must've been something else…"

"Something… alien?" Maurice asked fearfully.

"Nah," the Doctor replied instantly. The last thing he needed was another outbreak of human hysteria. "Kid with a laser pointer probably could've done it," he lied easily. "Don't go blowin' your top again, Maurice. I won't tell Centre Management this time, but treat the customers right in future. You've helped me out here. Thanks a lot."

And with that, the Doctor ambled off, leaving a rather bewildered Maurice staring uncertainly at the blackened table.

He didn't go far. His next port of call was just across the square – Sue-Ellen's Clothing Emporium. He was in luck; just as he reached it, a tall, gaunt woman with a heavy bag over her shoulder, from which protruded a fuchsia-coloured spray of tulle, and three pairs of shoes in each hand, pushed open the door with some difficulty and started to make her way down the plaza. She was attired in a sleeveless, very close-fitting dress of pale-blue taffeta that reached to her ankles and caused her to take small, rapid steps as she walked. She looked rather like a wind-up doll.

_And from the looks of it, someone jammed the key in a bit hard,_ the Doctor thought to himself, looking at her haughty lilac-painted mouth and line-thin eyebrows which gave her a constantly disapproving expression. _This is not my lucky day._

He straightened his tie, steeled himself, then dove in.

"Excuse me, it's Susie, isn't it?" he asked, remembering Sylvie's mention from earlier.

The woman stopped, looked rather put-upon, then stiffly replied, "Sue-Ellen Trinnigan. What can I do for you?"

Out came the psychic paper. "Hullo, John Smith, talent scout." He showed her what he knew would appear to be a very flashy-looking business card from a London talent school. "I was watching the show this morning, very impressed. I was wondering if it would be possible to commission your services for an exclusive range to be used in our annual production this year. Always hard to find someone to costume our girls properly, and I think your designs would compliment our performance wonderfully."

Sue-Ellen had lost her sulky expression quicker than she could've lost her heavy layer of make-up; her eyes took on a rather hungry gleam, and a smile that was almost as brilliant as sun on the snow beamed at the Doctor in a slightly predatory manner.

"Why, Mister Smith!" she said in a voice that gushed more than a waterfall. "It would be a delight and an honour! It would depend on how many students I would be required to outfit, I'm frightfully busy with my personal conquests at the moment, but… I may be able to take it on! What kind of thing did you have in mind?"

"We-ell," began the Doctor, rocking back on his heels as he saw he had successfully laid the bait, "There was in fact a particular dress that struck my fancy, a floaty white number, lots of drapes-"

"Oh, I know just which one you mean! The pride of my collection, that one – it's called 'Snow Queen'. I could create multiple versions of it with a slightly fuller skirt, that would give your students complete freedom of movement-"

Seeing she was about to launch into a full sales pitch, the Doctor hastily interceded: "Actually, I was rather struck by the girl who was modeling that dress. Very graceful lines, a fantastic walk. I could use her in my school. So hard to get refined girls these days! They all run around like boys in low-slung jeans playing with ghastly ringtones."

"Oh, that girl! She's a treasure!" Sue-Ellen waved a pair of pastel-green high-heels adorned with rhinestones to add emphasis. "Carrie, her name is. She's been modeling my clothes for years, ever since I started! I knew her mother when I was just a sales assistant back at Henrik's. Her daughter's a rare beauty! I'd say I sell twice as much of the things she models for me than my next-most-popular item!"

"Yeah, a very fetching girl! Unusual colouring! Is she of British ancestry?"

"Oh, I don't know, actually! Isn't that funny, I've known Sylvie all these years and I still don't know! I suppose they are. I've never heard Sylvie mention it, though when I first met her she'd just moved here from somewhere else… Carrie does have that foreign kind of look about her, doesn't she? Such fair hair and pale white skin! Could be Scandinavian! I just had to put that frock on Carrie today, it matched her colouring perfectly. Her skin is so perfect, it blemishes so easily! Sometimes before a show I have to tell her to stop scratching her arms! She has this horrible habit of raking her nails over her skin just below her elbow, brings it out all red. Picked it up from her mother more likely than not. I've seen Sylvie doing it too. She has to wear three-quarter sleeves to hide the marks. Really, with the care she takes with her appearance, I would've thought she'd have stopped it by now."

"Mmm, probably an unconscious action on her part, hard to break it if your not aware of doing it," replied the Doctor, who had given the appearance of listening conscientiously, but whose feet had been discreetly edging away despite himself. "Is that the only dress of that sort you have in your current collection? I thought I saw another one similar…"

"Oh, well, there was one other somewhat like it," Sue-Ellen admitted. All trace of her enthusiasm had evaporated. "A very similar number, but let out in the waist for a… larger girl." She deliberated over the word as though she wasn't sure how to put it graciously. "Sylvie's other daughter. Can you believe it? Not a thing like her mother and sister. Sylvie is very conscientious of her daughters, she begged me to let Millie model as well as Carrie, but I think I'll have to try to dissuade her. I suppose you saw her take off in the middle of the show. I don't expect to see that dress in a repairable state when it does turn up, and those shoes! Rather expensive soft white vinyl, and hand-stitched. Millie is such a volatile girl! If only she were more like her sister! Well, I suppose I shouldn't talk about my friend's daughter that way. At least Carrie and I get along perfectly well. She often gives me very helpful ideas of what I could create to suit her."

"Well," the Doctor spoke up for what felt like the first time in hours, "I need to talk to my producers, we're currently trying to decide upon a theme for the show, but once I have something more definite for you to work on, we'd love to have your services, if you can make yourself available."

"Most certainly. I'm always keen to support the arts." Sue-Ellen dumped her right handful of shoes on top of her bag and managed to extract a business card from a side pocket. It had the name of the shop in the same curly letters on it, beside a large fuchsia love-heart. "Give me a call whenever you're ready. By the way, I love that outfit." She eyed the Doctor up and down as she handed over the card. "That suit is perfectly slimming, and that coat, it's so… retro! If I ever create a men's range, you'll have to model it for me." Her cobalt-blue eyelashes lowered in a coquettish look.

"Heh, I'll keep that in mind," the Doctor said with a very stiff smile firmly affixed on his face. Managing to extricate himself from the conversation at last, he turned in the opposite direction to that which Susie took, and thrust the card into the nearest rubbish bin with an expression of utmost disgust.

He was wandering back down the mall, pondering what he'd learned, when a rack of gaudy ties in a small novelty store caught his eye. A manic grin spread across his face – the smile of the inspired genius.

They had given him an idea.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

**Chapter Four**

"Milliiiiieeee!!"

Sylvie's shrill clarion rang through the little cottage's white-walled rooms like a school bell.

"What?"

Though Millie's sluggish reply was several decibels lower, it made its presence felt. Like a dead weight in the stale air.

"Are you out of the shower yet? Your father wants to hose the lawn!"

"Alright, he can hose it already!" The bathroom door slammed and heavy footfalls stumbled down the hallway. Another door slammed soon after.

Sylvie sighed and shook her head. "What a troublesome child," she muttered to herself. Then she turned and called in the opposite direction, out the open window of her room, which faced onto the street: "Okay honeeeeyyy, you can start noooooow!!"

Out in the front yard, her husband obediently started the water. He began to diligently spray the already lush turf, standing on the concrete path to avoid getting even a drop of moisture on his spotless white suede shoes. A woman went by the house with a dog on a leash. She unknowingly let her little Chihuahua guzzle an ice cream that had been dropped in the street as she paused to do up a shoelace, her eyes fixed on him. Eventually, having carefully checked both shoes, she moved on reluctantly, pulling the little dog after her, its fur now sticky and matted with melted strawberry sorbet. Two more ladies passed by, caught sight of him, and whispered discreetly.

"He's quite a looker, ain't he?"

"Not half bad at all! Reckon he's worth a try?"

"Nah, look at him, all fenced in. Some lucky gal already has him under lock and key."

"Yeah, looks like it. Shame though. He's quite nice."

And indeed he was, really. The Doctor had discounted him earlier, but then, he hadn't looked at him from a feminine point of view, or even a human point of view, for that matter. He was very slender, his physique shown off by a tight-fitting faun- and white-striped polo shirt and white-washed jeans. He had a fair head of hair like his wife and daughter, irreproachably slicked back with some kind of product. His high cheekbones and narrow chin gave his head a chiseled, almost sculpted look, and his eyes behind square-framed glasses were a remarkably pale green, like a spearmint lolly. While he couldn't exactly be called a rugged, manly spunk, he was attractive in a new-age, sensitive, Beckham-ish sort of way. Completely oblivious to the fact he was being lusted after by the passing London female populance, he kept on watering the lawn, making sure each blade of grass got a thorough soaking.

"Excuse me-"

A voice suddenly floated by his right ear. He started and turned in surprise; the nozzle of the hose turned with him, completely drenching the Doctor. He quickly lowered the hose and stopped the water, accidentally dousing both his own shoes as he did so.

"Terribly sorry, I didn't know-"

"Quite alright," the Doctor replied somewhat apologetically. His tie, which was of white silk, was plastered to his shirt front, and his hair drooped lankly all over the place like a bird's nest that was falling apart. "I kind of snuck up on you, um… was it Terrie?"

"Jamie."

"Right, right, sorry, I knew it ended in 'ie'. Should've remembered that. Jamie, like the chef."

"Erm, you were the one who brought Millie home…?"

"Yeah, I was in the neighbourhood, just wondering if you could tell me how to get to Blackhall Avenue?"

"Uh, take the first right you come to in that direction," Jamie gestured down the street, "Then second left. It's the little cul-de-sac on the end."

"Right, thanks. All these little suburban streets, it's like a labyrinth. Thought I'd drop back in and ask since I was here before, sorry to bother you. Nice lawn. Very green. Hope it still looks like that in July! Globally warming will be the scourge of horticulture!"

As he turned and headed down the path, a group of ladies coming back from the shops went along the street. Their eyes swept over the two men appreciatively, then they began to twitter amongst themselves.

"Phwoar, I don't mind those two!" a furtive voice hissed.

"Mmmm, yeah! I'll take the one in the suit! Sure looks dapper!"

"Nah, I prefer the other one over that little runt! He can come over to my place any time, looks like he needs feeding up!"

"He's bite off more than he could chew with you, Sarah! Ha!"

"He looked pretty domesticated already. Those two are probably a couple. Just the luck, eh? The good ones are always on the other bus!"

_Or Time Lords,_ the Doctor smirked to himself as they voices floated off down the street. _Runt, indeed!_

He turned right on the pavement, gave Jamie a friendly wave, and strode off down the street, loosening the knot in his sopping-wet tie as he did so. He was inexplicably pleased with his own cleverness.

Jamie, feeling slightly dazed by the other man's rapid chatter, looked ruefully at his ruined shoes. _Funny chap,_ he thought to himself. _Strange, I don't remember actually talking to him earlier. Come to think of it, I don't think I was even introduced to him. I believe Sylvie spoke to him before. Perhaps she knows who he is._ He watched the slight figure's coat tails flap down the street like some hyperactive swallow in flight, heading towards the corner.

_Hmmm, I don't remember that phone box being there. Must've just been installed recently. They could've put a better-looking one in. What a dull, ugly shade of navy-blue._

He finished up the watering, coiled the hose and stowed it next to a water tank at the side of the house. As he went back up the path, his shoe squeaked on a stray pebble. It glimmered a bright magenta in the sunlight, glowed faintly, then flared out as it was ground to dust beneath the rubber sole. Jamie didn't even notice it as he went back into the house.

* * *

Back in the TARDIS, the Doctor impatiently tugged the tie over his head and thrust it into a domed metal container. This he set up on a tripod which stood among several other apparatus that had been spread over the TARDIS floor, looking like it had come from a chemistry set.

"This is elementary-level Earth science right here," he muttered to himself as he lit a Bunsen burner – well actually, it was a Ruprix-manufactured candelabra with five jets of varying heights – underneath the bowl. "Richard Hammond, eat you're heart out; this is a real _Brainiac _performing _Science Abuse_. Oops, almost forgot the safety-goggles."

He slipped his thick-rimmed glasses onto the bridge of his nose, then peered intently at his experiment. Then he carefully arranged a large glass dome over the whole set-up, and waited. The apparatus steamed for a few minutes; then the glass dome began to glow. Bright pink light bounced around the control room like a kaleidoscope, melding with the pale blue glow of the centre column shaft to become almost violet. The Doctor grinned, and lifted the steam-filled dome. The inside of it was dripping with condensation, and in its apex, a cluster of magenta-hued crystals had formed.

"Ah-ha! Just as I thought!" the Doctor declared, staring raptly at the glass, his delighted expression bathed in pink light. He lifted the metal bowl – somewhat gingerly, because its base was hot, coming straight out from over a flame – with the tie, significantly drier, still sloshing around in it and peered at its reflective surface. "My pores look finer! This version of me always did have rather bad skin, but it's been refined by a single douse! No wonder that lawn is so lush!" He sat back on his heels. "So the question is… what will be in their water supply tomorrow? Well, we'll have to find out then! A little stasis for one night won't do us any harm, will it, old girl?"

Thrusting the bowl aside and switching off the flame, he leapt energetically to his feet and patted the TARDIS console affectionately. Then he threw himself into the captain's chair, his sneakers comfortably propped up next to the vector-tracker lever; he leaned back and lounged happily. His triumphant look faltered a little.

_That poor girl,_ he thought to himself. _That's a hell of a life to have to live for thirteen years._

* * *

Millie's bedroom door banged open.

"Look at you," Carrie sneered. "You look like a little piggy sulking in a sty."

"No one asked you," came Millie's muffled reply from within a cocoon of blankets on her bed. It was true that some clothes and belongings looked like they had been thrown around the room a bit, but a teenager's room was supposed to look messy, wasn't it? Millie knew Carrie's wasn't. If she'd cared to bring an agar plate home from school and drag it across any surface at all, not a single bit of mold would appear, she fancied. Carrie radiated cleanliness. It practically dripped off her.

"It's true, though," Carrie replied self-righteously. "You looked like such a twit in the mall today, screaming your head off, your face going all blotchy when they laughed at you! No wonder they laughed, you looked a quite a sight, rolling around out there on the runway! I can't believe you said you were an alien! You probably are, too! You look weird enough to be one! No wonder so many people believed you!" She leaned against the door jamb, striking a sultry pose. "Susie called earlier! She said a talent scout saw her after the show! He liked my walk! He wants to make me the star of his talent school!" She fluffed a lock of blonde hair that lay over the shoulder of her frilly nightdress like a silk scarf, sleek and smooth.

Millie rolled over so she wouldn't have to look at her. The sight of her made her feel sick in the stomach. "Why'd they want you at a talent school, Car? You haven't got any talent."

"Have too; and don't call me Car. I have looks, which is more than you've got."

Millie's cheeks burned. She snuggled down lower in her blankets so Carrie couldn't see it. "You have the looks of a beanpole, Car. They probably want you to stand outside the school and hold up their banner like a flag pole."

"You're just jealous," Carrie huffed, the bracelet on her wrist tinkling as she flicked the lock of hair over her shoulder. That was her favourite response to any argument.

"Millie," Sylvie's voice cut in from down the hall. "Don't keep Carrie up talking. You girls need your beauty sleep, starting right now. If you don't sleep properly while you're young, you'll have wrinkles when you're older."

"Yes, Mummy," Carrie replied, her voice dripping honey. "Good night, Mummy." Her voice soured in an instant as she hissed vehemently at Millie: "Sleep tight, you fat bed-bug Millie-pede!" The door slammed shut, plunging the room into darkness, and Millie heard her charm bracelet through the door, tinkling triumphantly back to Carrie's room.

Millie screwed her eyes up as tightly as she could, but the tears still seeped from their corners and slipped onto her pillow.

_"You're just jealous!" _

Carrie's spiteful words seemed to circle around her in the dark. The horrible thing about that, and the reason it won the arguments more often than not, was that it was true.

* * *

Sylvie, oblivious to the domestic drama, was staring fixedly into the mirror above her dressing table, inspecting her skin. Light from a nearby lamp reflected off a pale, flawless portion of her cheek. Sylvie sighed and reached for a container. She brushed a bit of the loose powder it contained over the spot. In an instant, the area bore a slightly yellowed tinge, and the surface of the skin appeared uneven. It looked like a blemish that had just healed over.

_Such a shame,_ Sylvie thought for what must have been the billionth time in thirteen years, _but it has to be done._

"Jamie," she called to the footsteps that sounded in the kitchen, "Don't forget to…"

"I know, pretty."

Jamie set down the hairdryer he had been using in an attempt to salvage his shoes, and went out into the hall. He opened a door that led down some stairs into a basement. It was empty except for some old furniture covered in tarpaulins and the house's central water heater. With an expert's touch, he pried open a panel on the side of the tank. Water gurgled within. He reached for a nearby container that looked like it was full of the chlorine used to clean swimming pools; donning a rubber glove, he drew out a cake of some chemical and dropped it into the tank.

It made a sloshing sound, then a sizzle. A faint glow began to emanate from within the tank, growing stronger. It spread about the room in waves of ultramarine-blue that made it look like the entire basement was under water. It stopped abruptly as Jamie closed the panel, stripped off the glove and went back up the stairs, heading off to bed for his night's 'beauty sleep'.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Millie finished tying her shoe laces, swung her rucksack onto her back laboriously as though it held the weight of the world, and stomped reluctantly towards the front door. She didn't get very far, as the sprightly figure standing on the doorstep barred her way; she nearly ran straight into him for the second time in as many days.

"Hi there!"

"What are you doing here, Mr. Smith?" Millie asked somewhat warily.

"Please, call me Doctor."

"Umm, okay. What are you doing here, Doctor Smith?"

"No, not Smith; just 'Doctor'."

Millie put her hands on her hips in an exasperated stance. "Fine. If I get your name right, 'Doctor', then will you tell me what you're doing here?"

"Oh, I was just passing by and thought I'd check in on you today, make sure you weren't too traumatised by yesterday's events. That was quite a chase. Nearly gave me a blister. You didn't get a blister, did you? You weren't even wearing running shoes. Good old sneakers. Just made for sneaking. Hence the name, I suppose. Speaking of names, did you know Converse was created by a Marquis? You don't seen any Marquises around these days. We really should; Marquises make good, solid shoes. They- ahem- er, 'scuse me, my throat's a bit dry. Could I trouble you for a glass of water?"

Millie's expression had turned from bewildered to incredulous whilst this monologue had run its course. She thought of refusing, of slamming the door in his face. _Just what kind of weirdo is he? _she wondered to herself. However, something about him standing rather forlornly on the doormat with appealing eyes and a beguiling smile, his lemon-yellow tie contrasting sharply with his blue shirt and his brown hair flopping over as he tilted his head like a hopeful puppy, made Millie step aside and let his red sneakers cross the threshold. She liked his eccentricity, she decided; letting him and his colourful, excessively verbal personality in felt like a declaration of rebellion against the stiflingly white, muted walls of the little house.

She led him into a gleaming white-tiled kitchen that smelled strongly of washing-up liquid. Whilst he hovered near the kitchen table, idly rifling through the jam jars left out from breakfast, she got a glass out from the cupboard and headed for the fridge.

"Whoa, whoa, water is just fine," he said, putting down the marmalade jar he had half-opened and bounding over to stand by the white marble-topped bench.

"We always use filtered water," Millie explained, reaching for a plastic jug full of a pristine-looking liquid. "Mum and Dad are obsessed with filtering water. They even wash the dishes in stuff that's been through the filter. They reckon the pipes under London are old and unclean."

"Oh, I've seen the pipes under London, they're more contaminated than you'd think," he admitted. "Loads of spiders. Still, I'd prefer tap water, if you don't mind. Has fluoride in it. Whitens your teeth." He bared his own set in a wide grin, as though to prove his point. Millie shrugged, replaced the jug, and went to the sink.

_Try telling my parents that,_ she thought to herself as she twisted the faucet. _You're lucky you can choose whether you drink from the tap or not. You wouldn't last a day in this house. The authority would probably kill you. It's a wonder it hasn't driven me mad. Some days, it feels like it has._

She went to put the glass on the bench at the same time as he went to take it from her; she hesitated halfway, and his hand jostled hers. The glass jerked out of her grasp, sloshing water directly in his face as the glass fell, hitting the bench top with a loud bash. Light refracted off the bench top for a second, dazzling her; to her surprise he yelped and jumped back, waggling his fingers as though he had been burnt.

"Are you alright?" Millie asked, stopping the glass from rolling off the bench before it could fall and smash on the floor. "Did you get a splinter of glass in your hand?"

"Nah," replied the Doctor, inspecting the damage, of which there was nothing visibly wrong. "Just an electric shock. You must've picked up some static from the stainless-steel on the sink." He popped his fingers in his mouth, looking like a large child as he did so. "That hasn't happened since last time I went down a slippery dip," he managed to mumble round his thumb, completing the effect.

Millie grinned. Somehow, she imagined that hadn't been too long ago. _For a 'doctor', he sure seems pretty juvenile._

"I'll get you one from the jug this time. I don't want to run too much water; Carrie's still in the shower, and she'll yell at me if she gets scalded." _Not that she needs a reason to yell,_ she added to herself.

The Doctor had thought he heard the discreet sound of pipes squealing under pressure and water rushing somewhere in the house. "Eh, I've never understood having showers in the morning," he rambled conversationally, crossing his ankles and leaning casually on the bench. "Makes more sense to have one right before bed. Better than leaving it all night and getting in amongst clean sheets with a day's worth of dirt all over you. That feels pretty horrible."

"I'd have to agree with you there," Millie replied, marvelling as she did at the inanity of the subject. "I always shower at night."

"Not Carrie, though."

"No, everyone else in my family showers in the morning. I guess it's so we don't go through all the hot water at once. More often than not we do, anyway."

_ Kind of strange, _actually, she pondered as she set the refilled glass safely down on the bench before him, _that with all the conformity in this house, I'm the only one who gets the bathroom at night. I never really noticed that. I guess it's just another way for them to set me apart from the rest of them._

"So, Carrie's your sister, is she?" the Doctor inquired, taking a swig of cool, fresh water and smacking his lips appreciatively.

"Yes," Millie replied instantaneously and almost automatically, as though it were a question she had answered many times before. She looked suspiciously at the Doctor's inquisitive look. "And she's not my older sister, so don't get any funny ideas. She's way too young for you. You'd get arrested if you tried to ask her out."

Halfway through a gulp of water, the Doctor's eyebrows shot up over the rim of his glass. "Who wants to ask her out?" he asked in surprise, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "I certainly don't. Of course she's too young. Way, way, way too young. I'm not one of those kind of guys, my name's not Humbert Humbert or anything like that. Did you think I was like that?" He looked disgusted by the mere suggestion.

"No, sorry, I didn't mean that," Millie replied shamefacedly, realizing she was talking about matters far too grown-up for her to be discussing. "It's just that most boys who talk to me only want me to ask Carrie out for them. I guess I just answered by habit."

The Doctor looked at Millie more conscientiously. "You say Carrie's not your older sister; is she younger?"

Millie hesitated. "Actually, we're the same age… w-we're twins."

"Really?!"

Millie shrugged, again looking used to this sort of response. "Yeah. We don't look it, do we?"

There was an awkward pause.

"Well, no. You don't seem to have such a stiff neck from keeping your nose up in the air. Hence, you also have smaller nostrils."

Millie spluttered and laughed outright at that. Not too many people dealt Carrie a put-down except her; the novelty of hearing it coming from someone else alone delighted her.

The Doctor chuckled along with her. But as he did, she saw he gave her a look of sympathy. It didn't bother her, like most of those sorts of looks did. It wasn't the usual pitying look, the one that made her feel like a victim of her own unfortunate DNA; nor the disappointed look people got when their eyes slid from Carrie's pretty features to her undeniably plain, unattractive ones; or the disapproving one that seemed to say that she had somehow brought her ugliness, her silliness and stupidity upon herself. It was a look of empathy, a look that hinted at mutual experience. It caused a little surge in her sad, down-trodden heart. It felt almost like she had a comrade in her sufferings.

Her eyes glanced over the clock, and she realized she'd be in for more suffering if she didn't get going.

"Cripes! I've gotta get to school! The bell goes in ten minutes!"

"Won't Carrie be later than you at this rate?" the Doctor asked, putting down his empty glass.

"No, Mum usually drives her. I- I usually walk. I, um, like to get the exercise."

_ I obviously need it more._ She didn't say the words out loud, but the implication was obvious.

"Explains why you're so good at running from mobs." He gave her a friendly grin, which she managed to reciprocate.

"Thanks for the water," he added as they out the front door.

"No probs. Sorry bout the, uh, tie and all…"

He looked down at where it hung damply round his throat. "Ah, never mind. At least it's a light colour, the dye won't run and stain my shirt."

They parted ways on the sidewalk. "Bye, Doctor. And, um, thanks for yesterday. And for checking up on me today."

"My pleasure. Take care, Millie."

Partway down the street, she turned to watch him toddling off in the opposite direction. He'd taken off his tie and it was trailing after him like a puppy's waggling tail as he strode purposefully down the Close.

_I probably won't see him again,_ she realized, and was surprised at how despondent that made her feel. _I mean, how often do you meet an E.T. Consultant? Only when there's an E.T. around._ That thought alarmed her; the events of the mall from the previous day replayed themselves in front of her. What if… maybe she should have mentioned… after all, if she couldn't talk to him about that sort of thing, who could she…?

The faces of the vengeful mob loomed up in her memory.

_No, best not say anything. He might lock you up. And even if it isn't the case, he'd probably think you're crazy and have you locked up in an asylum anyway. Maybe he's from an asylum himself. He certainly seemed… strange enough. Just 'Doctor', huh? More like a mad scientist. I guess that's what he is, a scientist. If he works for the mall as a consultant, though, maybe I'll see him there again… if I ever do show my face there again after that incident. I wouldn't mind seeing him again, though. Even though he was strange, I don't know why… I kinda liked him._

And as she stumbled off towards school, her school bag felt just a little bit lighter.

_At least now,_ she consoled herself, _if there ever _is _an alien around, I'll know who to go to for help._

* * *

"Ooooh, that's definitely alien."

Wave after wave of iridescent blue light broke over the Doctor's attentive expression, reflecting in psychedelic stripes on the lenses of his spectacles. It came from the blue cluster of crystals he was staring at on the inside of the glass dome, making the eerie lighting around the TARDIS console even bluer than usual. The yellow tie lay in a shallow pool of water at the bottom of the bowl nearby, steam still rising off it.

"Either alien or 3,000 years too advanced. Either way, something is definitely rotten in the state of Devonshire." He passed a hand over his own face, feeling along the contour of his jaw line. "Pores have dilated again; I can feel it. It's back on the Proactiv face wash for me."

He placed the glass dome carefully on the floor and leaned back comfortably, cushioning his head with his rolled-up coat. "Someone's been keeping secrets, and has been for a while. But secrets, when they're kept for so long, have a way of coming out. And when pressure has been building up for an extensive amount of time, there's bound to be damage when it blows its top. I hate things that are so… domestic!" He screwed up his face as though the word were a bad taste in his mouth. "I'd love to not get involved, but what they're doing is wrong, and it won't end happily. Especially for her."

He rubbed his fingers together distractedly, remembering the electric shock he had sustained as he had intentionally bumped Millie's hand. "If that happens every time she gets stressed… and she lives such a life, almost constantly stressed-out; she's like a lightning rod in a forest. Sooner or later, someone around her is going to get struck during a storm." He sat up and looked at one of the various dials on the console; this one had what looked like minute- and second-hands.

"Hmmm, should be there is time for recess. Wonder if I should take a packed lunch?"

So saying, he got to his feet, pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, neatened – or tried to neaten – his unruly thatch of hair, and when he had decided he looked as respectable and as responsible as he could manage, he stepped out into Pommerance Close with a purposeful tread.

_"A bunch of boys…I guess I overreacted…"_

_ If we're talking about stress, yesterday was definitely stressful,_ he thought ruefully as he strode along the quiet suburban street. The silver hatchback was no longer in the driveway. The little empty house looked deceptively serene with its dazzlingly white fence and luminous green lawn; he passed it and kept on going up the street. The sight of it goaded him on.

_Allons-y!__ No time to lose!  
_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Millie managed to get through most of the morning unscathed. A group of laughing students ran past her in the hall, pointing madly at her while shrieking "Phone home!", and someone sitting behind her in the classroom blew a loud raspberry as she sat down in her seat, earning the instant ire of the teacher. But this was nothing special compared to her usual days at school. As she had expected, a lot of people seemed to have heard about the previous day's incident at the mall through the complex chain of emails, phone txts, web forums and instant messages which made up 'chav-communications'. Some of the boys from the mall must have known people from her school and spread the word. She knew she would be harassed about it sooner or later; she could only hope it would be put off later and later before she would finally have to face it.

She had been dreading recess. She headed out into the playground, looking pensively at the overcast sky and trying not to look at anyone else, hoping no one else was paying any attention to her, either. She found a quiet seat beneath a tree near the far outer edge of the playground and slumped down on it by herself. She was just discarding the health bars her mother always packed – they were like foil-wrapped bricks - and reaching for a piece of fruit when a shadow fell across her lap.

"Hey, space-cadet!" a taunting voice jeered. Keeping her head down, she snuck a glance at the crowd that had surrounded her, trying to appear engrossed in the contents of her lunchbox. She hoped that the group of boys would lose interest if she ignored them, though she knew it was futile.

"My brother saw you stack it at the model comp yesterday! What were you doing, modeling safari wear? The type for fat animals!" There were raucous shouts of laughter at that. Millie's cheeks grew hot, and she clamped her lips together. "Nah, more for aliens, like! My bro said the ceiling exploded while you were onstage! What did you do, let one of? Can you do farts that explode in the earth's atmosphere? Do you float up to space full of hot air? Do you have moons that orbit around you? I think I can see an asteroid growing out of your chin!"

Millie ducked her head lower as the boys chortled. _Just my luck I got a new zit on my face last night,_ she bemoaned to herself. Every peal of cruel laughter felt like a blow across her face. Her eyes stung, and she kept her head resolutely down.

"What space-food ya got?" Her lunchbox was snatched away; she let it go, clenching her fists on her knees as with a rustle of foil, she heard her lunch being dismantled. "Ha ha, space bars! Wah, they're tough! Do you get so hungry you eat bits of metal? Are you a martian or a robot? Hey, is this your ray-gun?" One of the boys was brandishing the banana at her like a pistol. "Ha ha, watch out, it's loaded! Is this your ape food? Do your parents keep you in a cage at home? Ha ha, here, you can have it back!"

A handful of mushed-up banana landed on her knee. Her resolve broke down.

"Stop it! You're not flippin' funny! Just leave me alone!"

She jumped angrily to her feet. As she did, something happened; there was a sizzle and a loud crackle, and a flash of light that looked like sparks flying. It sounded like the air itself had snapped; then there was a brighter flare, and with a loud crack a branch from the tree above broke off. The boys reeled back in surprise, falling over each other to get out of the way. Feeling stunned, Millie would have remained where she was and been hit by it if a sinewy hand hadn't closed round her arm and pulled her sharply aside. The branch fell across the seat with a crash; it was a thick as a child's fist.

One of the boys had fallen over in his haste to move away; he sat staring at the branch, not noticing that his school shorts were covered in thick grey schoolyard dust. "You really do have exploding farts," he sneered, trying to match the jokes from earlier to mask his shock, but he still sounded fearful, as though he thought his comment, preposterous though it was, might actually be true.

"Don't be childish," said a voice next to Millie; it was attached to the hand that still clutched her arm. "She couldn't possibly have done that."

"Who are you?" asked one of the bolder boys, who had recovered from the shock and was looking the stranger who had so suddenly appeared up and down, sizing him up as a new target for ridicule.

"Dr. Smith. I'm the new substitute teacher."

"Dr…? Doctor of what?" someone asked with the disapproving teenage attitude that usually met anyone of sufficient scholastic knowledge.

"We-ell, lots of things, I suppose. But among them I'm a doctor of environmental sciences, and I can tell you that that-" he pointed at the severed branch – "was caused by excessive barometric pressure building up in the earth's atmosphere. Not surprising really, looking at those clouds. Lightning storms always occur more frequently in summer; the heat causes high pressure systems to form, the resulting friction with the air to generating electricity. I suggest you lot get safely in doors in case it happens again. Trees often act as conductors. Unless you fancy trying the tree's tricks out for yourselves, you lot can shove off."

Even the most dim-witted of adolescents knew you weren't supposed to stand beneath a tree when lightning was about. Looking like a bunch of confused and scared children – which is what they essentially were – the boys backed off and scurried away in search of a safer spot to spend their recess.

Millie was standing by the bench, staring at the branch. She looked like she'd been entranced by it.

"I think you'd better sit down." A firm hand pushed her gently down onto the end of the seat next to it. Her knees at first bent reluctantly, then shakily gave way. She sat with a deep exhalation that was half-sigh, half-sob, and dropped her head into her hands.

"What a waste of a perfectly good banana." She parted her fingers. Through them she could see a pair of red plimsolls approaching. There was a soft clatter as he put her lunchbox, which he had picked up along with its now-dusty contents, on the seat next to her. "I like bananas."

She took a shuddery breath. "What are you doing here, Doctor?" Her face, when she lifted it, was blotchy and wet. "Why do you keep turning up? Why do these things keep happening to me? You must know. You're an alien expert, and you're always around when these things happen to me." It wasn't an accusation; her voice was weary, as though she were finally giving in to something. She glanced again at the branch. Large splinters poked out at the broken end, which was slightly blacked. "What is it? How is it happening? Am I doing it? Is it because I'm a… an…"

"An _alien_?"

Actually hearing him put it into words made her gulp nervously and fall silent. She couldn't look at him or try to speak. She just nodded numbly.

"Would it be such a bad thing?" His voice sounded thoughtful, as though he were musing out loud. "Surely there are worse things you could be. Humans always judge others against themselves. Whatever is different is unacceptable, it's feared or ridiculed or shunned or captured or scanned or tagged. And microchips hurt as they go in under your skin. They hurt even more when they get pulled back out. Really, though, there could be other life forms out there that you are yet to meet, wondrous and benevolent and astounding and brilliant. But if they came here, people would instantly either run screaming or start shooting. Is that any way to greet guests who've come halfway across the galaxy, just to meet you guys? That kind of behaviour would make any visiting races turn defensive in an instant."

He leaned forward so he could look her in the face. "Look at you. Crying because you think you're extraterrestrial. Because you might be different to every other inhabitant on this planet. And that scares you. You get defensive. You're hurt, insulted, hoping against hope that it isn't true. That is such a human reaction. That is you humans at your penultimate; staring dreamily at the stars, then getting scared off when you get too close and realize that they are unsightly balls of exploding gas. Not stopping to consider that that peacefully glowing orb could have a consciousness, could be a living entity, could be emotionally hurt by your actions. Instead you hurry back home where everything's safe and familiar, or else push on, hoping that you'll find something that resembles yourselves so you can accept it as belonging with you. Always saying you're hoping to discover what's new, but always really looking for conformity."

Millie was listening silently, tears dripping off her chin, not knowing what to make of any of what he was saying. The Doctor perhaps realized this, because he began to speak more plainly and consolingly. "Of course you're human. You couldn't be more human if you tried. Frailty, thy name is woman, and all that. My mate Bill knew what he was talking about. You're young and scared and don't know what's happening in this brave new world around you. But it's not you who's at fault here. You're the least likely person you could possibly find who could turn out to be an alien. You are so thoroughly, utterly human."

He said it as though he were paying her a compliment. This time Millie believed him. After all the days she had been suffering in self-plaguing doubts, it was such a relief to finally hear someone say it as a certainty.

A shower of sparks exploded next to her; she squealed in surprise and threw her hands out. As she did, a shower of sparks followed her left hand. The Doctor quickly grabbed her wrist, eyes darting around to make sure no children – or worse, teachers – were nearby. Holding the terrified girl firmly by the elbow to stop her flailing about whilst avoiding singeing his own knuckles, he whipped out the sonic and passed it over Millie's wrist. With a final fizzle, the sparking stopped. The charm bracelet hung limply on her wrist.

"Wha…? What happened?" Millie asked uncertainly as an acrid smell like smoldering rubber filled the air.

"The perception circuit burnt itself out trying to repair itself, making it short out. I used the sonic to reverse the polarity of the charge, dispersing the static energy and putting it out cold."

Millie didn't understand any of this, besides the words 'circuit', 'static' and 'cold'. "That… that's what got the branch before, isn't it? And in the mall yesterday. You mean it was… my bracelet?"

"Ye-ah. Dodgy jewelry manufacturers, magnesium reacting with the air…" he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, exposing the lie.

"But… my parents gave me this bracelet. I've had it on ever since I was little. Carrie has one too. How could it… but it… how…?" She trailed off, bewildered.

The school bell rang shrilly, startling her. It startled the Doctor too; he jumped, then looked around sheepishly and hastily stowed the sonic in his jacket. "Thought that was the wake-up call on Justicia Alpha for a second. Time I was moving out. Look, Millie," he turned to her, looking squarely at her to reinforce the import of his words. "I can explain all this if you want me too, but you'll need to come with me. If you really want to find out, I can tell you why this-" he pointed at the branch "-keeps happening. But you might not like the answers."

"Leave? Now?" she took his words in slowly. "B-but, school is still…"

"Ah, school won't miss you for one day. Besides, this is about the rest of your life. You can't spend the rest of it worrying you're going to fry someone at the check-out line next to you, or the boyfriend who grabs your hand in the movie theatre, or someone else just innocently standing nearby in the street. And you can't go back in there like that. Too many free radicals - these kids don't know when to keep their mouths closed. Don't want to be near any bullies with those charged particles emanating from your wrist. They could literally get shot off at the mouth. Try explaining that to your teachers! Come on, best sort it out now! You must be curious!" He turned and climbed nimbly over the school fence, showing how easily he had done it before, and stood waiting on the pavement for her to decide.

Millie looked nervously at the children streaming into the school building. Then she muttered, "Fine, I don't want to walk around with sparks coming out of my wrist and things falling on my head."

She checked no one was looking their way, then clambered more awkwardly over the fence, the Doctor holding a steadying hand out to help her. Then he gestured for her to follow and started ambling down the street. With a final uncertain glance at the fallen tree branch lying precariously across the bench with her lunchbox beside it, Millie turned and followed him.

* * *

_Skweeeek!_

The heels of the Doctor's shoes squeaked against the plastic as he slid down the slippery-dip. He leapt up at the end and ran his finger along the spout he had just shot down. There was a snap like two pebbles striking each other, and he pulled his hand away quickly, the tip of his finger slightly numb for a second.

"Y'see? Static electricity!" he said to Millie, who was leaning against a nearby jungle-gym. "With kids crawling all over it, it's constantly generating friction, which in turn creates static energy – it all goes unharnessed, but in fact it's like the kids are playing on a giant battery." He ran a hand through his hair. It was hard to tell if it was standing on end from static, or if it just looked like that naturally. He had led her to a local playground a few blocks away from the school – the best place he could think of to demonstrate how the bracelet's technology worked. And he was very good at thinking.

"That bracelet jangles around on your wrist, causing friction with your arm and the air around it. The bracelet then harnesses that energy. It's like it's constantly charging up. Tiny sensors on the bracelet's inside surface detect a build up of sodium chloride on your skin's surface, increased ambient temperature – basically, signs of nervousness or stress. Wider-ranged receptors look for a heat signature around you, that is, an antagonist who could be causing the stress. When that happens, boom! - all that latent energy shoots out in a concentrated beam, and - bob's-your-uncle! – instant Taser! It's like those tagged gismos parents in America are starting to put on children to keep track of them, like a walkie-talkie with a tracking chip in it, but this doesn't just alert the parents to the danger – it takes care of it on its own! It's a child protection unit!"

"So what," said Millie, pushing herself up off the play equipment, "this bracelet-" the object in question gave an innocent-sounding tinkle as she lifted her wrist "-is a personal security system?"

The Doctor nodded, satisfied he had explained it thoroughly, but adding another analogy for good measure. "You know those laser-sensor things they have in museums in the movies? You've got one of those strapped on your wrist."

"Then- then how do I get it off?!" Millie asked, feeling slightly alarmed. She tried to push the bracelet over her hand, bit it was too tight. _Damn fat wrists,_ she muttered inwardly to herself.

"Whoa, whoa, don't do that!" the Doctor cautioned, holding up his hands to shield himself from stray electrical currents. "It might think you're being attacked and go off if you agitate it! Best way to avoid really electrifying all the play equipment is to _stay! calm!_"

Millie took a deep breath, trying to do as he said.

"It won't hurt you," the Doctor continued. "Internal insulators stop it from zapping the wearer, otherwise you'd be getting shocked every time it went off. It'd be no good if any assailant can just yank the bracelet off; it's dead-locked and can only be removed by a person with the key. See that charm that looks like a lock? Well, um, it _is_ a lock."

"T-then who has the key?"

"The person, or persons, who are trying to protect you." He was intentionally ambiguous, waiting to see if she'd guess for herself.

"B-but, who…?" Millie remembered what he had said… kids being tagged by their parents… "You… you can't mean… my parents…?"

"As you said yourself, your parents gave you that bracelet, and gave one to Carrie as well."

"But they couldn't have known-"

"Couldn't they?"

There was a deafening pause after he cut her off. The birds in the trees nearby sounded too loud in the tense silence.

"Y-you think…" Millie began cautiously, "that my parents bought these from… from aliens?"

"There's more to it than that, and I think you already know it." The Doctor didn't sound eager to explain anymore; there was a reluctance in his voice as he continued. "You said you were an alien in the mall yesterday. That must have been for a reason. You wouldn't just say that on a whim, not when you already had all that unwanted attention. You actually believed that was true. Why would you think that? Because you had proof it was true? The bracelet must have gone off before; if it had been charging for thirteen years and went off in the mall the other day for the first time, those boys would've been fried by the electrical charge that had built up. The charge was fairly weak, so this kind of thing must've happened to you fairly regularly in the past. But why would you jump to the conclusion that you were 'alien' after what could be more easily explained as just some 'faulty lighting'? No, you were convinced. But what convinced you? Or rather, who?" He frowned disapprovingly. "There was more in than bracelet than just heat receptors and current generators. There was a perception circuit built into it."

Millie remembered him mentioning the perception circuit before. "I thought you said that had, erm, shorted out?"

"Well, it has now. And that's because I told you the truth; that you're human. The bracelet tried to correct your perception, but it couldn't cope with your certainty that the opposite was the case, and it wrecked itself. Which means, if I told you you weren't an alien and the bracelet tried to feed you the opposite information, it must have been programmed to make you think that the lie was, in fact, true – that you were alien."

"But… but who-?"

"Perception circuits were created to prevent against kidnapping cases where the victim becomes emotionally attached to their abductors. It's a well-documented psychological condition among kidnapped victims called Stockholm Syndrome. The perception circuit was to keep children from giving in to suggestions from their attackers which might endanger them; 'stranger danger' is literally programmed into their consciousness. Now, all the bracelet's functions were originally intended to protect the wearer, but that particular function allowed parents to do what they have always wanted to do, from the first century and earlier right through to the fifty-first century - to control how their children think. I think I'm right in thinking that your sister Carrie isn't a very nice girl, and when I think, nine times out of ten, I think right. I bet one of her favourite taunts was to call you an 'alien'. And more often than not, children develop their own behaviour from their parents."

Millie's mind was moving surreally slow. As the Doctor mentioned it, she remembered all those past scenes, all set within those clinical white walls, all containing those same taunting voices…

_Such a child! Sometimes I think she must've been replaced by an alien… What spaced-out behaviour… Must you act so bizarrely, so alien?!... Hahaha, I bet you're really an alien, you're certainly ugly enough!... you dumbo, you're such an alien!…_

"But… why? Why… would they go to so much trouble to make me think that?"

"Shift the blame. Like the pot calling the kettle black." The Doctor looked pityingly at her as he said with genuine remorse: "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Millie, but your family aren't human like you. _They're _the aliens."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"You're joking."

It wasn't a question; it was an accusation. The Doctor flinched, nervously eyeing the bracelet and, scarier still, the girl it was attached to. It wasn't a perception circuit he was dealing with; this was the stubbornness of a teenager. And that was far more dangerous. He had to tread very, very carefully.

"But… but how…. how could… how is that possible?" Millie stammered, looking dazed and incredulous. "They couldn't be…. They can't be… there's nothing alien-"

"Isn't there?" the Doctor cut her off; she looked at him sharply. "They seem human, you say. But they're almost too human, too perfect to be human. They live in a lovely house, affluent suburb, they're good looking, have nice clothes, white picket fence, green-green lawn. It looks like a display home; all it's missing is the pink plastic flamingos. They're the archetypal humans, and no one on earth is the archetypal human. There are too many variants in the genetic gene pool; too many quirks, too many wonderful eccentricities. They are too text-book to exist. They may have stepped out of an inter-planetary tourist catalogue, like models of the human race; they look like a perfect version of the real deal, but they're not."

"So, what… you're saying that because they're too good to be true, they can't be human?" There was a heavy hint of obstinence in Millie's voice. The Doctor eyed her nervously – he had the feeling this conversation wasn't going too well. "What do you know about my family? You've met them once; I've lived with them for thirteen years!"

"Er, the perception circuit-"

"Oh, don't feed me that crap again!" She was angry now; her fists were balled and she glared at him, her voice taking on a harder edge. He took a step back. "You may have fooled that bunch of people yesterday, but it won't work on me! Think you're right funny, don't you, making people think you're an expert on aliens!" The Doctor, seeing he was starting to lose her, sighed and reached into his suit. "Well, if you think I'm as stupid as that, you're… you're wrong…"

She ended her tirade uncertainly as the last words she spoke wrote themselves on the pad of paper he held up. Once she got over the shock of seeing them appear in thin air, she recognized it as the same flip wallet he had had the previous day.

"I knew you were going to say that. See, it works now, doesn't it? Psychic paper. Convinces you that you see what I want you to see. It didn't work yesterday because of the perception circuit, but now that that's blown, it works just fine. Now, you may not want to believe me – I know, it all sounds a bit, well, too crazy, frankly, to be true – but I'm telling you, it really is true. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but it really is true."

He saw uncertainty and disbelief waver on her face; the next second, it turned into sheer stubborn denial.

"You're _WRONG_!"

_ CRACK!_

At Millie's shout, a beam of light shot across the park. Millie, realizing a second later what she had done, recoiled in shock, but it was too late – the current sparked and flared as it hit the Doctor square-on. He gave a strangled cry of pain as the volatile energy beam spread all over his body, flaring and sparking as it entwined his limbs, jolting him all over continuously and relentlessly. With an effort, exerting all his will on the pulsing air around him, he pushed it all towards his right hand and gestured outwards forcible. The strobing light followed his movement; it left his arm and shot like a lightning bolt through the air, striking the ground a few yards off and throwing up a spray of dirt. The flickering light and low buzzing sound stopped; the ground smoked where a shallow crater had formed.

The Doctor shivered and shook his arms and legs, trying to throw off the pins-and-needles sensation the electricity had left on his skin. "Yeowch! I could see that happening sooner or later today. That hasn't happened in a while, actually. It tingles for ages afterwards!"

"A-are… are you ok?"

The Doctor stopped dusting himself off and turned to her. She was looking at him with a semi-horrified expression; tears had welled up in her eyes. He straightened his tie nonchalantly.

"Yeah, 'course I am! Won't hurt me much, that sort of thing. Lucky I wasn't someone else, or they would've been fried to a crisp! And I'd just gotten used to this head of hair; ginger or not, I don't want to change just yet-"

"I thought the bracelet could… could…"

"Yes, it can." The Doctor's voice in an instant switched back to serious tones. "If anyone else gets hit by that, they would… well… you get the idea… crisping, and smoking, and, uh, so on…"

"So… how come you're… you're not… c-crisping and smoking…?"

He took a few steps closer to her and hooked his thumbs into his belt loops, looking her straight in the face. It was important that he maintain what trust she still had in him, given what he was about to say.

"Because, I'm an alien."

Millie stared at him very hard. Like she was looking for evidence of anything 'alien' about him.

"Now you're joking!"

"Am not!"

"No way!"

"Yes way!"

"C-can you prove it?"

"I just didn't. I didn't get fried."

"I-I'm sorry! I d-didn't mean to do that…"

"Yeah, I know. You're just lucky I wasn't human."

Millie threw up her hands in exasperation and sat down on a nearby swing. "This is mad! I s-suppose, if you really are… alien… then you know other aliens when you see them… but, you look like a normal human…"

"Oh, it's not exactly an exclusive shape," the Doctor explained, sitting down on the other swing next to her and rocking back and forth with his usual boundless energy. "That genetic code is one of the oldest and most sophisticated, it echoes right across the universe. Thousands of races look very similar to you guys – mine included – though no one remembers where it originated from."

"A-are my family… are they from your race, or a different one…?" Millie's voice sounded uncertain still, as though she were waiting for him to admit it was all a big, elaborate joke. He didn't; he replied as gently and carefully as he could.

"No, they're a different race; I think I know which one, though I'm not quite certain yet. They don't so much look similar to you guys as they are carefully camouflaged. Here, watch this."

He reached into his bottomless pockets and pulled out a tiny test-tube. Inside was a clear liquid – it looked like water. The Doctor removed a stopper from the mouth of the tube and upended it over the parched, sickly brown lawn at his feet. The blades of grass were drenched; there was a pause, during which Millie and the Doctor watched them intently, then they started to glimmer faintly magenta, then to sparkle. Before their eyes, the grass stretched each blade, no longer withered by the heat, until it stood rigidly upright, and turned an intense jewel-like green.

"You see?" the Doctor asked, gesturing proudly at his handiwork. "Water-soluble chemicals. I got this from the water tank next to your house, the one your father uses to spray the lawn. It's a genetic enhancer. It refines the genomes of what it touches, making it a perfect archetypal specimen. Put simply, it's a beautifier. And this one-" he produced another test tube "-is the opposite; it suppresses true appearances, making its user dull enough to blend into normal humdrum life." As he spoke, he tipped the test tube's contents on the same patch of grass; it went back almost to its previous state, only slightly greener. When Millie took her eyes away from it, she had trouble finding it again in the expanse of lawn, though it was still faintly discernible.

"So you got these from my house?" Realization dawned on her: "Then that glass of water-"

"Right, a water sample! Conveniently soaked it up with my tie; collected enough to evaporate the water away and reduce it down to the original chemical. The pink crystal was the beautifier; the blue crystal was the dampener, and the dampener, a substance called 'neithogenes', was going into the tap water while the rest of your family was in the shower of the morning. That's why they shower at the opposite time of day to you; someone probably puts the chemical in the water tank each night, then they use all the water with the additive up in long showers and leave the untouched water that fills the tank later in the day for you to shower in."

"Then… there's no dampener- er, 'neithogenes', in the water I use?"

The Doctor shook his head. "I don't think so. As far as you can tell, you're _au natural_."

Millie looked slightly disappointed. _She's looking for an excuse for her plain looks,_ the Doctor realized sadly.

"So," Millie began again after a moment, "these chemicals are alien?"

"We-ell, they're alien technology. The ingredients are local, but the method is alien. No one on earth could know how to make it…"

"Dad works for a pharmaceutical company. I bet that's how he gets the chemicals." Millie swung her legs, frowning thoughtfully. "And he fiddles downstairs with the central heating almost every night! Checking it in case there's a leak and the house explodes in the night, they say! I bet he puts the chemical-"

"Flurogenes," the Doctor interposed.

"-these 'flurogenes' in the water tank then. That's why they all look so weird! It actually makes sense! I can't believe it! I always felt I didn't fit in this family… so that makes me, what, adopted? I guess it shows, doesn't it? And all these years, I just went along thinking… when we obviously didn't look related, and all this time we weren't even the same species- God, it's hard to believe, but it's true, isn't it?"

She looked to him for finality; he nodded. "Yep. It's because the perception circuit is blown. Before it stopped you from even considering the truth; but now that it's stopped working, the truth is pretty obvious."

Millie sighed deeply. It was a lot to take in at once. "So… what do I do now?"

"Your main concern now is getting rid of that bracelet."

She looked at it darkly, like it was a large, repulsive insect clinging to her wrist rather than a delicate piece of jewellery. "Dratted thing. So my parents have the key?"

"I'd say so."

"And that's the only way to get it off?"

"Yep. Which means you'll have to confront them about all this."

He sat in silence for a moment, letting her consider it. After all he had told her, it was a big step. And there was no going back after this. This would make or break her family. But it was for the best in the long-term, he knew. And he knew she believed him now. At least now, with what he had given her, she could take matters into her own hands.

At last, she gave a firm little nod. "Fine. I don't think I can live in the same house with them now anyway, knowing they are all aliens. It'd be too weird. N-no offence," she quickly added, giving him a sidelong, almost shy glance.

"That's alright. Takes a little while to get used to. I mean, look at me; seeming near-perfect-looking human specimen right here. Looks can be deceptive." She grinned at that. He grinned in return. Now he had her on-side, he could get things moving! "Come on! If we're going to do this, we have to do it right!"

"What, you have a plan or something?" Millie asked as he leaped off his swing and helped her up off hers.

"Oh, that's what I do – plan the plans, save the world, eat the pies, save the girls-" he gave her a wink "-ride off into the sunset. All that heroic-alien stuff. Come on, you can help me out!"

And with his usual manic enthusiasm, he pulled her across the park and away down the street. Though she felt rather nervous – her family, whom she had lived with for thirteen years, suddenly became a bunch of slightly sinister strangers in her eyes – his energy was catching and, despite herself, she felt rather excited.

She'd finally broken the cruel cycle of deception, uncertainty and self-doubt in her life.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Shouldn't you be at school?" asked the man behind the counter at the newsagency.

"Oh, I'm on my way to a dentist's appointment after this," Millie lied breezily. "I'm going there a bit later this afternoon, so I have the rest of the day off school."

The guy grimaced. "Not the best reason to miss out on school. Need any serious work done?"

"Nah, just the yearly check-up." She flashed him a cheery grin to prove the point.

Beside her, the Doctor sidled up to the counter with a handful of paper sheets in a pale egg-shell blue.

"No, no, big brother," she sighed, putting on the bratty-younger-sister act. "That's all wrong for the school project. Pick a different colour!"

"But I like this colour," the Doctor protested, looking dejected. "It's blue. I like blue. What's wrong with blue?"

"I'm supposed to pretend to be a talent agency employee for career day! Pick something nicer! That's too… boyish!"

"Well, you pick it then!"

"Alright, I will!"

"There's a nice woven-texture stock just come in yesterday," the newsagent interjected, having watched the two 'siblings' bicker with a gradually-widening grin. "There's a new colour, 'gold rush', that might suit your assignment. It's over near the cardboard, third shelf down."

"Sounds good," Millie replied, "I might use that. Amazing the difference a bit of know-how makes." And shooting her 'brother' a meaningful look, she headed for the racks of papers and cardboard.

"You seem a bit too good at this deception-and-trickery stuff," the Doctor whispered as he followed at her heels, still clutching his wad of blue paper.

"What, jealous that I'm doing so well when I've had less practice than you?" Millie stuck out her tongue. He could think of no other reply than to roll his eyes like a seasoned pro watching an over-confident young rookie.

"This stuff looks good, but it sure is expensive," Millie murmured, picking up a piece of paper in a pale yellow/fawn colour with a bit of a glittery sheen to its surface.

"Erm… I don't have any money," the Doctor admitted.

It was Millie's turn to roll her eyes. "That'd be right! Wouldn't any exchange offices take your currency? Can't you use that sonic-scanner-thingy to rob an ATM or something?"

"Well, I could… but it wouldn't be very fair."

"What a well-behaved tourist you are! Well, lucky I have my purse with me." She extracted it from the pocket of her school skirt. "One sheet should be enough, shouldn't it? I don't think I could afford much more than that anyway."

Five minutes later, they left the store with a sheet of gold paper carefully ensconced in a brown paper bag.

"Now that we have the paper, we just have to forge the letter," the Doctor declared, ticking off steps on his mental agenda. "Since you have so much 'know-how', why don't you do it?"

Millie looked at him for a second, weighing up her abilities, then shrugged. "Yeah sure, I guess I can do it. Judging by the paper you wanted to use, I'd do a more convincing hash-up than you, at any rate. Is there somewhere we can go where I can work on it in peace?"

"Hmmm…" he mused for a moment, then made up his mind. _After all, they'd gotten this far; why not?_ "Tell you what – I'll take you back to my ship!"

She looked at him, momentarily stunned. "When you say 'ship'… you mean, as in 'space ship'?"

"Well, I didn't exactly enter the earth's atmosphere in a little sailing yacht. Yes, of course a 'space ship'! Come on, you wanna see it?" He looked like a crazy kid inventor wanting to show off his latest invention. Once again, his enthusiasm was infectious.

"We-ell, ok then. Tell you what, I'll buy you lunch on the way there!"

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"I haven't had recess, remember? I'm starving! It won't be nothin' fancy, I've only got a couple of quid left, but since you're providing the spaceship, I'll provide the food. Tell me, though - what kind of sarnies do spacemen like?"

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Millie was stretched out on the floor of the TARDIS console room, a half-eaten quarter of a tuna-and-mayonnaise-on-rye (way better than the sandwich full of weird sprouts and things that Sylvie had placed in her lunchbox) in one hand and a black felt-tip pen the Doctor had managed to scrounge from a box of tools clutched in the other. The five lit jets of the Ruprix candelabra provided light nearby as she applied artistic scribbles to the sheet of paper in front of her, munching every so often and taking care to keep any stray mayonnaise globs away from her handiwork. In the background, the Doctor, having finished his chicken-and-marmalade 'sarnie', was licking the last remnants of the marmalade from his fingertips and pottering happily around the room, tidying up after his water-sampling experiments.

Like most TARDIS guests, Millie had been unimpressed by the outside facade of the 'space ship', then done her fair share of staring and pacing round and round the blue box as she tried to fathom how such a huge space could fit into a space barely a metre square and two metres high. The Doctor had ruefully shaken his head to the familiar strains of: _"But it's bigger on the inside!"_

"It's called a TARDIS," he had explained smugly, rescuing the bag of sandwiches from her shock-loosened fingers just before they had lost their grip entirely. "T-A-R-D-I-S. Stands for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. She travels forwards, backwards, sideways, byways, all the highways along the timey-wimey trail."

"Blimey!" she'd managed to say as she gaped at the vast interior it housed. It was yet another amazing thing to take in. Even after everything else she had discovered today, it required a great deal of suspension of belief. She had surprised herself, actually, by how quickly she had managed to stop staring at the vaulting roof, walls covered with roundels, and eerily glowing central column to focus on her task at hand. Having wrecked the perception circuit on her bracelet probably helped – infuriating, to imagine all the things it had probably stopped her from thinking or noticing for all these years! She had a lot to make up for. This was certainly a good start – you couldn't not-notice the alien technology in here! She had watched the Doctor fiddling idly with all the bits and bobs in here that he was obviously just as familiar with as people were with their own slippers and desk lamps, and the scenario took on a surprising amount of normalcy.

_It's surprisingly homey in here,_ Millie thought to herself as she took the second-last bite of her sandwich and practiced writing a flamboyant signature on a scrap bit of paper. _Well, I suppose it's homey the same way the inside of a giant, glowing bee-hive is homey._

After a good many minutes' solid work, punctuated occasionally by bites of her sandwich, she finished off her penmanship with a last flourish, snapped the lid back on the pen in satisfaction, and declared: "Done!"

The Doctor looked over. "That took long enough! Let's see it, then!"

Somewhat sheepishly, Millie handed over the paper. "Will it do?" She asked tentatively after the Doctor had poured silently over it for a while.

"It looks brilliant!" the Doctor declared with genuine admiration. "You have a knack for this kind of thing!" He glanced up to beam encouraging at her, and something else caught his eye. "Say, is that meant to be me?"

He pointed at the scribble-covered sheet of paper on the floor beside her. Millie blushed and smoothed it, looking flustered. "Erm, I suppose. I tried out a few figures for the logo, and, er… I guess I was thinking of your coat…"

"Not bad," the Doctor sanctioned, taking the paper and squinting at it. "Seems like you have talent of your own in the fashion stakes."

"I-it's nothing really," Millie muttered modestly. "Just some random doodling…"

The Doctor grinned at her over the paper. "Hey, this just gave me an idea. We have a while before we need to get you back home for tonight's big mission. Come back here and take a gander at this; I have something here I think you'd like to see."

She followed him out of the console room and into a corridor leading off it. They took a left, then a right, then another left, walked a long corridor, went down a small stairwell, and even passed a few wheelie bins shoved in a corner, also passing scores more doors as they went. Millie looked all around in amazement, realizing just how much bigger on the inside the TARDIS really was. All the while, she wondered just what the Doctor wanted to show her; some weird, super-advanced technology, perhaps? An alien menagerie? Exotic otherworldly artefacts? At last, they stopped before a door labelled 'Wardrobe'.

"It's in there?" Millie asked incredulously. Surely, with all this space, the Doctor could keep this amazing thing he wanted to show her in some kind of trophy room or something.

"It sure is! Go on, have a look!" He pushed open the door and stood aside to let her step in.

_ "Wow!"_

Inside were clothes. But not just several outfits. There were several storeys of them. Tiers and tiers of clothes racks spiralled upwards, needing the impressive spiral staircase at their centre to reach them, and on them was every kind of apparel imaginable, from safari suits to space suits and workman's overalls to ball gowns; pantaloons, futuristic jumpsuits, leather coats, delicate lace shirts, and even a lone pastel-pink tutu. Millie gazed around in wonder; she'd never seen so many clothes in her life.

"Go on!" the Doctor waved her in. "Get into them!"

Millie stepped forward, at first touching a sleeve gingerly, gently stroking a lapel; but within minutes she had pulled a wide-brimmed hat adorned with ostrich feathers onto her head and was rifling through a shoe rack, coming up with a pair of intricately-laced high-heeled boots.

"This is awesome!" she declared, arranging a white fur stole around her neck. "I never would've picked you as a fashionista, Doctor!"

"Oh, sure you would!" the Doctor countered, looking down at his own outfit. "Didn't I tell you, Charlie Chaplin suit! And Charlie was plenty fashionable in his day! All this stuff, I've collected during my travels. You're currently wearing bits of Madame du Barry's, Marilyn Monroe's and David Bowie's wardrobes. Well, actually that last one's probably Ziggy Stardust. Same difference."

Millie stopped in her tracks as though her slightest movement might cause the garments she wore to disintegrate, eyeing them in awe. "Should I be touching them? I don't want to wreck them… they could be fragile…"

"Nah, go on ahead! Clothes are made to be worn. Besides, didn't I tell you I picked them up on my travels? They're not as old as you think. Some of them are as fresh as though they were made last week, even though they look much older. In fact, that frock coat over there _was_ made last week… got that from the Duc d'Orleans…"

"What, so you can really travel… through time? And you picked these up along the way?"

"Yeah. I've been to loads of times, been travelling for ages… erm, literally… I've accumulated a lot over the years..."

Having absorbed this fact, Millie craned her head around, peering up the stairs. "Can I have a look up there?" she asked him hopefully.

"Sure, browse all you want! Knock yourself out. I'll let you know when it's home-time."

Millie scurried about the tiers of clothes, examining all the different trends, arranging them into outlandish outfits, sketching articles of interest. The Doctor stood at the door and watched her for a moment, then wandered back towards the console room.

_ Poor girl. I have the feeling tonight will be tough. At least she can have some fun before then. I doubt she's had much for the past thirteen years. Who knows when she'll next have the chance?_

* * *

It was almost four o'clock when Millie walked up her own front path. She paused at the front door to peer down the street one more time at the blue box standing innocently on the corner. Geez, when you knew what it was, it looked kinda obvious. She hoped the Doctor knew what he was doing. She hoped she knew what she was doing. She went over the Doctor's recital of detailed instructions in her head one more time, fingering the plain envelope in her hand as she did so. Then she took a deep breath and, feeling a mixture of excitement, purposefulness and apprehension, she pushed the door open.

All was quiet inside. Millie felt strangely like an intruder; like it wasn't even her house…

"Where were you?"

A voice floated out of the empty living room, making her jump. Carrie was perched on the hard white-leather couch, its high back hiding her from view. She looked her usual pouty, superior self, yet Millie felt like she was seeing her for the first time. How frail and bony she looked, so pale, so perfect… so artificial! She didn't look real. To look at her, it was all too plausible that she was an otherworldly creature… she was too unnatural-looking to have been born on earth… how could she have lived with this girl for 13 years, going so far to think that she was her twin?! _That perception circuit sure must've been good…_

"Have you gotten stupider? What's with the spaced-out expression?"

Another allusion to space. She actually noticed it this time. Millie couldn't help smirking. She knew the truth now!

"Oh, I though I saw a bug in here. Then I realized it wasn't a stick insect, it's just you. Lucky I have this letter to swat you with."

"Hmph! Funny, every time I look in your room, I think it's been taken over by wild boars. Then I realize the only pig in it is you." Carrie's retort didn't cut so deep this time. It no longer had a hold over her.

"Ouch, that tongue of yours, 'sister', is sharper than your elbows! Couldn't you be a bit nicer? I brought this letter for you from the letter box out front, but if you don't want it-"

"A letter? For _me?!_"

In a second Carrie had leap up and snatched the letter from Millie's grasp. With long French-manicured nails she tore the envelope to pieces, unfolded a sheet of swanky glittery-gold stationary, and read expectantly.

_ Three, two, one…_ Millie counted, and waited for the delighted squeal. She wasn't disappointed. Carrie's piercing howl of delight would've shamed a pack of coyotes.

"What's all the fuss?" asked Sylvia as she flounced through the door, several bags from an upmarket organic grocery chain swinging from her wrists.

"Mummymummymummy just look! at! this!" Carrie trilled, practically skipping across the room to her. The paper was practically thrust at Sylvie; she took in the stylized letter-head with a logo in the shape of a glamourous-looking girl with flowing locks silhouetted against an inked-in star, then at Carrie's insistence she read rapidly. Soon her exclamations echoed her daughter's.

"Carrie my pretty, this is brilliant! I knew modelling in Susie's second-rate clothes shows would bring you to greater notice eventually! How simply gorgeous! Oh, you talented child!" She stopped hugging Carrie and stroking her hair – which was difficult with the latter bouncing excitedly on the spot – to re-read the letter more thoroughly. "But that's tonight! Oh, your father and I both need to be there! But that's so soon! I may have to pick him up from work on the way there, he won't be happy! Lucky he takes a spare set of clothes, some cologne and some hair product with him every day. What should I wear? I have a black corporate-looking skirt somewhere… is that too sedate? Should I wear the red one with the white piping? Are the matching red sling-backs too tacky? I have some off-white pumps, but they might not match..."

Sylvie's voice travelled down the hall, towards her room – and her wardrobe. She hadn't even bothered to acknowledge her other 'daughter'. _Typical,_ Millie thought to herself. It didn't worry her anymore. Carrie had followed her, and their conversations floated back to the living room.

"Mummy you have to look perfect, you need to create a good impression! If you don't come across right, my future will be ruined! Are you sure I can't come? If I were there, perhaps the talent agent would-"

"No, my sweet, it definitely says it will be all business, your father and I have to come along to discuss the technical aspects of any agreement we might come to, you'd just find it boring-"

"But there might be a contract! Don't I need to sign a contract?"

"We'll be signing things for you."

"But it's about _ME!_ I need to be there!"

"It specifically says you're not to come, honey. You must've impressed this talent agent a lot already!-"

"I could impress him some more! _Why can't I come anyway?_"

_Why, indeed?_ Millie, now sitting cross-legged in Carrie's spot on the couch, thought smugly to herself as she listened to Carrie's whining. _If you only knew what we have in store for you…_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The doorbell rang. He waited a second, then a shrill voice shrieked "I'll get it!" and a pair of feet pounded to a stop on the other side. The door was flung open; the girl paused, her face falling, looking uncertain. It wasn't her parents, like she had expected.

Even the Doctor had to catch his breath for a moment, though he had well prepared himself for this confrontation. This was the first time he had met Carrie face to face. She really was an unearthly child. Her skin had the colour and luster of porcelain, her hair was like gossamer spider's web, her eyes were an impossible blue that lit up like sapphires. Then Millie moved into the view through the doorway, standing behind her and giving him a knowing little smile, and Carrie's looks were instantly shown up for their freakishness. She looked like a skinny cyborg, not at all real. Not at all earthly. Most definitely alien. He gave Millie the tiniest, almost imperceptible nod, then began.

"Hello, you must be Miss Carrie." He plastered the widest grin he could manage on his face; though it still came across as insincere, Carrie didn't notice. The shiny gold business card helped. It had the same paper stock and logo as the letter had had. "John Smith, talent scout. I-"

"Oh! I know who you are!" In an instant, Carrie's dubious expression was replaced by her most charming and self-serving of smiles. "You're from the agency! Aren't you supposed to be talking to Mummy and Daddy at your office right now?"

"I know, that was the arrangement," he gave her an apologetic look, and Millie inwardly applauded his performance. "But another later appointment I had was cancelled, so I thought that since I now have the time, I'd see if I could catch your parents before they left so we could talk here and perhaps even do a few test shots-" He held up a large Polaroid camera he had filched from the console room, found stashed under the floor plates. It was a very old model and still slightly dusty, but camera-loving Carrie didn't notice that; at the sight of the lens, her eyes gleamed and she began smoothing her skirt and neatening her hair.

"Oh! That would be brilliant!- But Mummy and Daddy have already left, you just missed them…"

Both their faces fell in disappointment, his mock, hers real. "My office is all locked up, they won't find anyone there… I expect they'll be back soon enough when they find the place closed. Would you mind if I waited here for them? Perhaps while I'm waiting, we could…" he brandished the camera again, and like a carrot before a hungry mule, Carrie galloped forward.

"Oh that would be wonderful! Come in, come in and have a seat!" She turned to look over her shoulder. "Millie!" she hissed in her superior tone, as though her 'sister' were in fact her personal assistant, "Get him a cup of coffee or something!"

"Yes, 'Miss'," answered Millie in mock-servility; she had been hovering near the entrance to the kitchen anyway, ready for the next step in their 'plan'.

"Three sugars," the Doctor added in a much friendlier tone, looking past Carrie. They shared a conspiratorial look which Carrie, absorbed in her own affairs, didn't catch. Things were running right on schedule. Smoother than they'd expected, in fact.

Carrie showed him into the hard, white lounge room, speaking suitably flattering phrases whilst subtly swishing her hair and pausing occasionally in a calculated pose, playing both accommodating hostess and supermodel simultaneously. She had him seated on a stiff white cushion and was prattling about her long-held modeling aspirations when it happened – Millie, trudging in with a full mug of luke-warm coffee, found a rumple in the white mohair rug with her foot, stumbled dramatically, and the cup lurched forward, dousing Carrie from head to toe with sticky brown liquid. Both Millie and the Doctor had to clamp hands over their mouths to keep from snickering; with her pale colouring, Carrie, her hair dripping brown sludge and big brown blotches on her cheeks, looked like she'd just been pulled up from the bottom of a bog.

"You IDIOT!" Carrie blew her top; the saccharine-sweetness of the accommodating hostess was gone, only the prima dona was left. "You stupid, good-for-nothing, soft-headed-" Millie took the barrage with a carefully-crafted look of cowed remorse on her features. The Doctor watched approvingly, and intervened when the situation looked to be getting too ugly.

"Now, now, calm down, my dear. It was an accident, no serious harm done. It hasn't done anything to dampen your looks." Remembering herself, Carrie regained her composure, trying to look modest but still openly smirking in a self-satisfied way at the compliment as coffee dripped off her eyelashes. Behind her, Millie mimed throwing up into the now-empty coffee mug; he had to look away quickly to keep from breaking up. "Tell you what, why don't you go wash up and change, and we'll shoot some photos when your folks get home?"

"Alright then. I won't look much of a picture in this mess!" Carrie spread her hands, which were covered in sticky brown residue, and motioned to her dress, which had been spotless white, but now looked like Jackson Pollock's rendition of a brown-and-white cowhide. "I'll go freshen up, I won't be long. Please make yourself at home while I'm gone." Shooting a dangerous look at Millie that clearly told her not to embarrass her in front of their guest any further while she was gone, Carrie dashed down the hall, and the bathroom door closed behind her. In the lounge room, both Millie and the Doctor waited expectantly; minutes passed, then, as they heard the water start, they both relaxed and let out a sigh of relief. Millie banged down the mug on the coffee table and sank into a seat.

"You managed that well," the Doctor grinned at her. "Actually, it was almost too easy… At least I knew to use a paper business card instead of psychic paper, but I thought she might have recognized me from yesterday…"

"I told you she wouldn't." Millie sighed and shook her head ruefully. "You don't know Carrie. If you haven't lived with her, you wouldn't think it were possible for one person to be so shallow and self-absorbed. I knew she'd go right for it. Though even I'm surprised that she didn't get wise with that old camera-"

"What's wrong with it? It still works!" There was a bright flash; Millie blinked, then glared at the Doctor and the Polaroid as it spat out a white card, a shiny black square of undeveloped film at its centre. "It's not that old. Little souvenir from the 1950's. Still in perfect nick."

They listened to the squeal of water in the pipes for a moment. "It could be a long wait," Millie warned him, knowing from experience just how long Carrie could commandeer the bathroom for.

"All the better," the Doctor replied, lounging as comfortably as he could on the unyielding sofa cushion and crossing his ankles upon the glass-topped coffee table with complete disregard for its spotless surface. "It'll take a while for all that chemical to come away." His expression shifted slightly towards concern. "Are you ready for this?"

Millie stared very hard at the carpet. She wasn't sure. To accept the Doctor's word was one thing, but to actually see it with her own eyes… _to see it properly, after obliviously living with it for years… How could you prepare yourself for that…?_

The bracelet tinkled on her wrist. She thought of the lies, the deception, how long she had lived without knowing. "I'm ready, I guess. As ready as I'll ever be. There's no going back now, anyway."

"That's right."

He gave her a look from across the room that was serious, yet still reassuring. She sighed and sprawled restlessly in her chair as they sat in companionable silence, listening to the water running, and waiting – waiting to see what would emerge from the bathroom once it stopped.

* * *

The street lamps were just blinking on as the little silver hatchback pulled abruptly into the driveway. Sylvie banged the door shut with an air of irritation, taking care as she did so not to scuff an expensive manicure. Her husband followed her; he appeared to be listening dutifully to her ranting.

"No John Smith at all in the entire building! Of all the jokes to play! And that letter looked so authentic! I should've known better, with it on such beige-coloured paper! My poor little Carrie is going to be so disappointed! Why would someone want to do this to-"

Beside her, Jamie's white-leather loafers came to a halt and he threw out a cautionary arm. Sylvie looked at him questioningly and followed his gaze; she gave a gasp that would've been audible two yards down and her hands flew to her mouth. A figure stood beside the house, small and slim and nondescript in silhouette, yet glowing softly and steadily in the fading light. Her skin was lit with an eerie sheen; every hair on her head shimmered as though with an electric current. Her eyes were narrower than normal, with pointed, cat-like pupils that shined strangely like hard blue marbles in their sockets. Her entire face looked tauter, more pinched, the cheekbones protruding in delicate ridges on either side of her face. Her white gossamer dress fluttered around a figure which, already slender, seemed to have almost halved. Almost cautiously, rendered speechless at this sight, they approached in silence, passing through the side gate to where their daughter stood on the driveway. She beamed at them, turning this way and that, gazing in rapture at her own shimmering arms and waifish figure.

"Mummy, Daddy, look at me! It's amazing! I'm… I'm…"

"_Beautiful_," Jamie breathed at last, unable to tear his eyes away to see his wife nod mutely. "The cosmetics… but the cosmetics should… how-?"

"Like this."

The side gate banged closed, cutting them off from the street, and they whirled around as another thin figure appeared from out of the shadows of the house. The Doctor brandished the hose's nozzle like a pistol; a strong jet of water shot out, dousing them both. As it hit them, they both screamed, as if it hurt them as it had the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz. After a few moments, the Doctor lowered the hose; he glanced at Millie, who was standing, frozen, by the water tank beside the house, and seeing that she wasn't about to do it, he went and turned the tap off himself. The night was strangely quiet as the water stopped gushing and the tap squeaked shut. Millie was staring at the two dripping creatures on the driveway. Like Carrie, they were glowing softly and had shrunken to half their usual width. Their faces were almost cat-like, pinch-looking, with slanting, almost predatory eyes that were piercing shades of blue, and teeth that were tiny, like little grains of rice, and sinisterly pointed. There wasn't a single blemish on their radiating skin, and their hair was like a mass of glow-bands, waving softly in the slight breeze. Millie couldn't stop staring at them; they were somehow fascinating, but she felt a shiver up her spine, an ominous feeling, like looking at a slender snake that was poised to strike, or an insect which just might have a deadly bite. The effect was rather like that of stick insects given human proportion, long and gangly, as though their bones were barely half an inch thick. Carrie was looking at her parents in awe as well, and Sylvie and Jamie were gaping at each other as well. Of the whole little congregation, the Doctor was the only one with his mouth closed and his lips firmly set together, looking not only unimpressed, but distinctly disapproving.

"You!" Jamie took his eyes off his wife, his daughter and himself in order to face him defensively. "What did you-?"

"Yeah, sorry, those chemicals were rather strong, weren't they?" The Doctor swung the hose casually at his side. "Heavy concentrate. No wonder the lawn is so green. Completely undid the effect of the neithogenes with a stronger dose of flurogenes. It completely restored your original appearances. Your disguises are water-soluble. I bet you guys never go swimming and never go out in the rain."

"Never," Millie affirmed, sounding somewhat vague, reciting remembered excuses with her eyes never leaving her former family's new forms. "Chlorine was bad for the hair, and going out in the rain, you'd just catch a chill."

"And everyone knows having the flu is pretty unattractive," the Doctor added. "'Pretty'. Yesterday I heard you say 'for pretty's sake'. That's a literal English translation of a phrase from your home planet - Ovagene 5, and you guys are Ovagenerians. I went there once, a long time ago. Flurogenes were everywhere, in the air. Made my celery sprig come up very fresh."

Jamie looked suspiciously from Millie to The Doctor. "Who-?"

"There were other signs," the Doctor continued, cutting him off. "The names. Ovagenerians always use cut nicknames instead of the long, grand names they were given at birth. They're a bit like Australians that way, they give everyone nicknames. All usually ending in 'ie' – Terrie, Kerrie, Larrie, Timmie, Tommie, Susie, Sylvie, Jamie. Probably short for Sylvia and James."

"Sylvineira and Jamiqualez, actually." Sylvie found her voice, then abruptly stopped talking again, looking sheepish. Jamie gave her an exasperated look.

"No harm in telling me your Ovagenerian names," the Doctor pointed out. "I think the cat is well and truly out of the bag."

"Who are you?" Jamie demanded. "How did you find this out? You seem to know a lot…"

"…about alien races?" The Doctor reached into his jacket and pulled out his flip-wallet. "I'm the Doctor, agent of UNIT, enforcer of the Shadow Proclamation."

"But you're not one of those great lumbering-" Sylvie began.

"No, not all Shadow Proclamation Enforcers are Juddoon. But I lumber along just fine in my own way." He replaced the wallet in his jacket, but his hand stayed there, as though it were resting on a concealed weapon. Sylvie and Jamie both stiffened, sharing wary glances.

"We're not here to invade or anything," Jamie began cautiously. "We're here peacefully, just trying to make a better life for our children-"

"Child, you mean." The Doctor's frown deepened. "Let's start at the beginning. You came here about fourteen years ago. Travel promotions, see the stars, some illegal-" Jamie and Sylvie both flinched at the word "-operators offer Earth as an unspoiled nature reserve, no other tourists, although Earth's track record at the moment for lack of alien life forms isn't exactly stellar. You had a child, and you decided to stay here. Because Ovagenerians are all about looks. They're incredibly competitive in the looks department. You thought human bullying was harsh-" he spoke more to Millie than the others "-you should see Ovagenerian schoolyards. They're like debutantes and supermodels combined, but even more spiteful. Anyone with the slightest blemish is ostracized, considered a freak, and it's a constant struggle to be the most beautiful. Ovagenerians make the pursuit of their idealized concept of beauty their life's work – which is where the cosmetics come in. You guys created batches of neithogenes so you'd fit in with the locals here, suppress your true appearance and pass for human, but you'd still look different to normal humans, just a bit otherworldly, just a bit too pretty. You faked paperwork to give yourselves visas, credentials, all the little extra trappings of a normal human existence. You brought up your daughter, Carrie, as a human, but as an extraordinary human, with her inherited otherworldly looks veiled by cosmetics, the prettiest among her contemporaries. In keeping with Ovagenerian social values, you made sure she was the most superior of her peers, prettier, and therefore, to your minds, more successful than anyone else. But that wasn't good enough. You didn't stop there. Oh, no. When Carrie was born, you faked more paperwork and adopted a human child, a child who would necessarily always look plain compared to Carrie, just because she was human and Carrie's 'foreign' looks showed through. Not only was Carrie brought up without the competition of other Ovagenerian children, but you gave her a 'whipping girl' so to speak, someone who she could be compared favourably to and belittle constantly to boost her own ego. You even convinced them that they were twins – two more 'ie' names, Carrie and Millie, I suppose short for Caroline and Millicent-"

"Carriseras and Millicitude," Sylvie corrected him again. The Doctor shrugged, as though he hadn't really expected to get it right after Sylvineira and Jamiqualez. "And another thing you got wrong," she continued recklessly, ignoring her husband's cautionary look, "we were up to Ovagene 10 when we left our home planet. You must have been there a long time ago if it was Ovagene 5 when you were there; no doubt it's been made over many times since we've left. They were constantly improving, making things better, remaking the entire planet to be more beautiful, more idyllic, more pleasant to look at. You have no idea what it was like, living under that sort of pressure, constantly struggling to keep up with the Jonesarians, having to get work done, stay perfectly groomed, change appearances constantly-"

"We-ell," the Doctor murmured to himself, but didn't say anything more.

"-it was too much to bear, the stress was giving me wrinkles, bags were forming under poor Jamie's eyes-"

"Sylvie!" Jamie looked scandalized at the idea, blinking his shiny cat's-eyes in indignation, the face around them currently flawless.

"You were!" Sylvie declared. "It's the nature of humans to tell things as they are, and at the time it was true! We needed a break for a while, just to slacken the pace for a few months or so and come back revitalized, but we had to do it on the quiet, we didn't want everyone to know that we weren't pretty enough to cope! And life was so much easier out here in the wilderness, absolutely no competition, we had the humans in our thrall with our beauty, and with Jamie's skills as a chemist we had no trouble adapting to the local physique." She scratched at a spot just above her elbow that was already red from where her long fingernails had raked it before. "And then we had Carrie, and we wanted to give her a better life here, without all that pressure-"

"What about your other child?" The Doctor's voice was uncharacteristically hard with concealed anger. "What about the human child you adopted, to play 'ugly sister' to Carrie's Cinderella? Her life hasn't been easy, she's had a cruel existence to deal with, living with you when she could've been living with a loving human family. The constant taunts and teasing, the lack of attention and genuine love throughout her whole life, she's the one who's been living under pressure. It's no wonder the bracelet on her wrist has been shooting off all the time, she's constantly being victimized, and you-"

"But we've given her a good life!" Jamie interrupted him; his face had taken on a slight pinkish tinge as his temper rose. "We've given her a beautiful home, lovely clothes to wear, sent her to a prestigious school. No other human child on the planet has a Pandero bracelet to protect them from attacking ruffians, though why it's letting her stand next to you, making all these wild accusations, I do not know. She's had every advantage of our lifestyle, it's common practice on Ovagene to take in a lesser being with which to favourably compare-"

"Not here it isn't." Compared to his usual wordiness, the Doctor's brevity was more effective than words; there was a keenness to him that replaced his usual levity, and even Jamie and Sylvie seemed reluctant to reply. As they opened their mouths to argue back, however, another voice interrupted them.

"Shut up, all of you! Don't talk about me as though I'm not here!"

A shower of sparks bounced off the brass head of the water facet, tarnishing it. Surprised by the sight and the authorative tone in her voice, they all obediently fell silent and turned to look at Millie.


End file.
